worth: a memory

I used to twist my words until they told stories I had never heard before.
Too forgiving, other people used to say.
A woman—
Maintaining imagery,
An object to be viewed.
I know how to blame myself
And how to polish the same wineglass till it sparkles—
Till it shatters in the hand.
I remember how to fold the clothes and wipe the counter wipe the counter wipe the counter till the grease is gone.

This is how he sees me:
A mirror to reflect his power.
This is how he sees me:
A canvas for his art.

Something put forth for evaluation—
From the roof, at night, we watch the stars,
Gaslamps lighting all the fires inside the mind,
Me twisting words until they tell a story I have never heard before.
Someone says that they had fun with me after a glass of wine
Instead of shoving me beneath they bed they smile and say
Let’s do it again, sometime.
The world slows
While the mind speeds through it
I remember how to pack my clothes
And then, of course, how to put them all away.

This is how he sees me:
Blank paper for his angry words.

An object for evaluation
How do I look inside a mirror
Or picking up stray clothing from the floor.
The thoughts and how they scatter
The moment someone turns a light on,
I remember how to pack a bag
How the second drawer down to the left gets caught, each time, on its own tracks
How the second drawer down to the left gets stuck
I remember how to pack a bag

I remember how to leave.

14 thoughts on “worth: a memory

  1. Wow! There’s a whole story in the two lines about remembering how to pack and how to put things away. For me as a reader, there was no hope left for the narrator after those two sentences, so the ending two sentences lifted me right up. Beautiful.

    Liked by 2 people

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