As If

Hand-Knocking

K. Barratt

 

 

He came to me as a weathered wish,

An old prayer, suddenly answered by the gods

When one has already forgotten about it.

A knock on the door, a crossing through

The threshold, and he was home,

Home back to me.

As if.

As if I had not walked away from

Such hope long ago. As if my

Life had not gone on, after the

Tears, the fears, the rummaging,

Picking my brain, asking, wondering

What  had I done wrong, so bad,

To deserve a departure without

Goodbyes. And now he stood here,

Back for me, for us, for the life

We shared once, he said.

As if I cared.

As if I cared to relive the

Insecurity, the sweet poisonous words

That made me doubt my worth,

That truly convince me I should

Thank angels and devas for having

That man with me, in spite of it all,

The flaws, the blemishes of my soul,

Which surely brought him down and yet

He stayed with me -until he could

Take it no more, this abomination

Of a self and left.

That’s what I told myself using the

Words he had engraved in my mind.

And I believed, each and every one f them.

And when tears were not enough to

Let out the pain. I added the cuts,

The scratches, the endless night

Of hate in front of the mirror,

Locking my heart in darkness,

Praying, wishing, asking to

Please, someone, above or below,

To bring him back to me.

And here he is.

Except that I am not.

Not the I he knew before,

The feeble flower

Begging for drops of water,

Thankful beyond measure

For his mere, indifferent touch.

I gave him all my perfume.

He repaid with an icy, steely crush.

He extends his hand,

As if.

As if I know him, care for him,

Have a bond to share with him.

But I know him not.

And the me I am now invites him out

And closes the door.

Whomever he’s looking for

Doesn’t live here anymore.

 

 

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