I left the church at the tender
Age of twelve.
A stone too leaden, heavy, settling
In my belly–
My tongue too swollen
With a single syllable
I did not know by name.
I could not guess it by the warmth in my chest
Every time she said my name,
Bells like lullabies–singing me to sleep–
The tears tasted salty-sweet,
And I did not know she was an ocean
Until she threatened to swallow me–
Jonah in the belly of the whale,
too muffled to call for help
Before I was swallowed whole.
I lived like that for years,
Thinking the sun would not show itself
For someone like me
when I was not the broken one–
Wishing for so long I was enough.
I thought the maps on the backs
Of her hands would carry me home
Through a maze of bristles,
Cage-like fingers grappling
For purchase against an already bruised heart,
Iron-willed
And stubborn
And beautiful
And a destructive, dying star.
I wish I would have listened the first time
When she said we would destroy each other.
The answer was not,
“Did I love her enough?”
The question is,
“I still do.”