The Black Napkin Volume 1 Issue 2 | Page 21

18

but you still

feel it living

in the remnants

left behind

staining the whorls

of your fingertips

she still visits you

in waves of tears

on public transit

and glimpses in

stained mirrors

her eyes staring

back at you

even now she claims

ownership of you

your reflection is only

an extension of her

in photographs

you are her

thinner alter ego

painted lips

and scars

on your

pale thighs like

chips in fine china

though you are the fruit

that fell from her

unforgiving branches

you hope that she would

no longer recognize you

you have become

more sharp edges

than wilted petals

you are a minefield,

no longer that tender thing

she had mangled

because she could

and this frightens her (cont.)

it never occurred to her

that it scares you too

you are no longer small enough

to fit the coffin she had built

she did not know how to love

something she could not control

you are both

the color blue

unfathomable and vast

she is

hypothermia,

frozen Atlantic

ocean death

you are warm and pure

as a southern sky

in spring time

untouched by

her biting chill

one day, i promise you

that you will look in the mirror

and see only yourself