the waiting

I had red wine and whiskey in my stomach, and I started peeling back all the scabs from the past two years. black corrosions unveiled baby pale skin, unready, glowing with ache. I stopped eating when you left and my belly became so concave you could see my ribs (if you were there). my sister the nurse worried over me but I ignored her, only looking at people through a cloud of smoke. I tried loving someone who wasn’t you but all he did was chew me up and spit me out, or maybe I did that to him. Everyday I would come home and suck on ice cubes, wishing for the way your fingertips cooled me down even in the hottest summers. I started writing poetry about the universe and how I fell to earth, mortal, a Soul without her Love. And maybe someone was listening to the tin can telephone attached to my heart, because somehow my Love came back to me.

 

© Alexandra Jema

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