with love, medea
The fiercest anger of all, the most incurable,
Is that which rages in the place of dearest love.
And there is little I loved more than the way your
lips traced out the shapes of continents I’d never been
to across my chest. Your voice crashing against our tongues,
like the waves that sent me scrambling across foreign
shores, sea legs struggling to grip on to grains of
memory that scratched away the skin upon my soles.
But I am not a stone – willing to be thrown over and
over till your waves carve me into a shape that fits neatly
upon your banks. I, am not that pebble hidden in the crevice
between your infidelity and shame. I, am not yours.
I am the ship that brought us to your golden shores, mast
deck and bow supporting you the only way I knew how.
But on rocky land no ship stays anchored forever. And when
I take all you love with me.