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