"This hurts forever.
I know you'll never marry a man like this"
These are the words that are more than words,
the sort she doesn't know how to respond to,
other than lips depressed and eyes cast downward
yet perceiving sadness unmeasured in how much
eyes can actually cry.
The few words said in boldness are a creed:
"you know you are never worthless."
No question, because she knows the woman
broken on the staircase looking so deformed-
is standing.
"of course, I know."
And by her eyes, it is the truth,
yet she never admits if her immune system is
trapped,
given up on stride after stride.
Disappointment that he is expecting only
her to change.
-
The heart of our species has an almost
limitless dimension.
-
The doctors won't relay to you that your
heart is failing, unless a chamber cannot
sustain the volume of blood abounding
from them
in some effort to flow 'cross the surface.
Though relief has been congested inside
for far too many decades and
I-will-just-have-to-keep-my-mouth-quiet-today
practices, that's the way it is.
"He's a needy person, he's always been.
I've understood that now. You won't.
It's something I don't require."
From woman to woman this secret is a
chain they walk on constantly, one more
than the other. The younger woman
draws syllables out on paint boards her
laptop displays: dih-vohrs
keeping it to herself, going back and forth
with her mind whether or not this is more
than a word.
And she poses outside the door,
watching the woman take the man's hand
and move closer on the couch,
knowing this is love of loyalty
yet wondering if anyone can know for sure
if it's the truest love that will stop
revisiting the deepest pains.
