Our hearts pounded
as we sprinted from our childhood home,
collapsing and burning.
It was no longer safe; that much was clear.
At some point,
a part of me,
confused and afraid,
looked back.
I watched her--
my angels standing on either side of me--
as she transformed
into a pillar of salt.
Crystals blew off her and danced in the wind.
My face grew hot.
I was angry, I was sad, I was starved of justice.
It wasn’t fair.
She didn’t deserve this fate.
She was afraid. She was a child. She never learned how to trust.
She never learned faith.
She couldn’t just run blindly
away from the only home we’ve ever known
without wondering if
maybe
it was stronger than you said,
maybe
we didn’t have to leave it behind.
With time, I started to wonder if this is what she saw.
I still wonder.
I wonder
if she turned to salt
not because she looked back
like you told me,
but because
she saw
you were wrong.
Daily,
I watched you dish out helpings
to so many,
their bellies stuffed and
their lips smacking
with your love.
I got the leftovers.
They tasted awful,
not like the love
you always talked about.
At first, I spit them out.
But when I saw how mad that made you,
I forced my mouth closed and my jaw to chew.
Funny;
people compliment my strong jawline,
and the only reason it’s so refined is
I’ve been clenching it my whole life.
It only got bearable
once I started using the salt.
See, salt enhances flavor.
A little sprinkle brought out
the hints of your love.
I learned early on
to take everything you served me with a grain of salt,
a dash of the oldest part of me,
who loved me wholly from the beginning,
to make these new parts palatable.
But now I hunger strike.
All I eat is salt,
and it’s dry,
but I’m too bitter to be polite,
and I won’t take another bite
of your leftover love.
I don’t want your leftover love,
your stressed out, stretched thin leftover love.
You can keep your goddamn leftover love.
I’ve had enough.
It makes me sick.
It makes me sick.
It’s too sweet.
Your sugary sorries
taste like arsenic.
To answer Hughes,
yes, it does candy over like a syrupy sweet,
and underneath it stinks of rotting meat.
I’ve had enough
of your dream deferred
and my voice unheard.
Uncage this bird
so she can sing these words:
I don’t want your leftover love,
your stressed out, stretched thin leftover love.
You can keep your goddamn leftover love.
I’ve had enough.
You’re lucky.
You’re lucky.
You’re lucky
others loved me.
You’re lucky
I had my angels,
who kept my old self
after I left her behind
and gave me salt
to fortify me
this whole time
Until now,
when I can feed myself.
I’m fed up with your leftover love.
Your stressed out, stretched thin leftover love.
You can keep your goddamn leftover love.
I’ve had enough.
A performance of this piece can be found here, starting at 34:45 : https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=AUWFmot3xKI.