Sometimes when I just can’t seem to find the time to write, I will pull out something I’ve jotted down before and see if I can turn it into something. I found some lines from early June that I’d written in my journal and this is what I came up with:
The expected chaos of good-bye
sometimes eclipses the truth.
My body is filled with you, for days,
while my days are spent unpacking
the heartache loving you has caused me.
Like my mother and her mother before
and every other woman before them
I carry a song of longing in my heart,
one that you labeled as strong
showing that you didn’t care all along.
I was just a careless note, something
to fill the empty spaces, improvisation
making it up as you go along, knowing
the song wouldn’t last very long.
I’m just one of those strong black women
who carries the bones of soulless love
like a dog looking for a place to bury the hurt.
Grandma told me that love is a choice
and the transparent truth is that
you don’t choose me, choosing instead
to devour my love like shabby leftovers
before pulling away from the table.
Yet, I choose to sit here day after day
mending my own broken heart, just
to allow you to break it again.
You keep breaking my heart,
cracking it like the pecans granny used to
eat after a long day’s work. Mindless clatter
of shells spilling to the floor
covering the noise of my tears, falling.
Peace & Love,