October 2, 2017

Your name is a sweet song,

a soft breeze on the tongue;

mine is a deep cut,

a ceaseless bloodshed,

a hailstorm hitting

the windshield of

your minivan parked

in front of your

house in the suburbs.

Your skin has been

a land of hope many

American men were lost

in their quest dreaming

of eternal youth and bliss.

Your eyes are dark skies  

in which many men imagined

a future built with your

white hands in shapes

of constellations.

When I look at you,

I see a tree

with roots hard

deep into the ground.

No one is able to

separate you from your heaven.

Not even that cunning serpent.

I was a fool to be

tricked by him.

A fool, I chose

to be the fool, Suzanne.

No, don’t feel

sorry for me, please.

If life’s a play,

everybody is playing

their own part.

But don’t you see

what I see Suzanne?

Do you ever wonder

what other heavens

you might have missed

while clinging onto your own?

Have you ever been worried

about what other heavens

you might have been

shattering into

thousands of pieces

by simply looking

away from them?

You broke my heaven,


the only spring

I have in this desert I am in.  

But you had other

options, some other men waiting,

your many Adams.

Lost in a sea of roles

fitting you like tailored suits,

maybe you never felt the need

to look away, away enough

to look into your own soul.

I—I didn’t have anything but

that world of the lost souls

you were too afraid to look at.

All my life I lived

within this nutshell

kept hidden from

all the pleasures

you were lucky to cherish.

You were and are a believer—

a believer of results, solidity,

these concrete buildings

surrounding you now.

There was always

a degree you needed to get,

a job interview

you needed to thrive at,

a child on the way,

then another,

and then another.

A faithful husband

you think you owe

most of your happiness to.

At night, do you two,

the happy couple,

hold each other,

your hands in his blond hair

worthy and needy of

your maternal attention?

Is sometimes your life

too much for you

as mine is for me?


Do you ever think the life

you lead is not enough

for you as I do?


Are you really that heartless

as these heartbroken men

say you are, Suzanne?

I choose not to believe them.

If you are really without a heart,

where does all this blood

come from and go to then?

It is a ceaseless

exchange of crimson

between my name

and yours maybe.

Now please put down

that little piece of heaven

you found just yesterday.

It is my heaven you turn

in your hands and play with.

Please leave it to this girl

who is used to playing

with the hand me down

toys of other children

who are richer

and sometimes older.


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