On the day we ended
you made love to me. Maybe
you hadn’t decided to leave,
perhaps you thought it was me you loved.
Probably, you closed your eyes and thought of her.
Maybe it was just sex.
Your mother asleep in the next room,
you held me like a bruise-spotted peach.
I was full of your child.
Maybe you were careful.
Maybe you ripped through me like shrapnel.
Cognitive dissonance, a therapist said.
Probably I was just a body
you wanted to be empty.
You wanted to be empty,
probably I was just a body.
Cognitive dissonance, a therapist said.
Maybe you ripped through me like shrapnel.
Maybe you were careful.
I was full of your child.
You held me like a bruise-spotted peach,
your mother asleep in the next room.
Maybe it was just sex.
Probably, you closed your eyes and thought of her.
Perhaps you thought it was me you loved,
you hadn’t decided to leave.
Maybe you made love to me
on the day we ended.
