Salt...

After you left I tried to kill it.
Failing that...
I hired a professional to come in,
crack open my chest
and scrape out the last tattered remnants
of the wriggling pink things with a hot spoon.
I hated the emotions that made me weep for you.
They disgusted me.

I wanted to be as hard and unflinching as you were
…cold as a tomb and with the words
like rocks that you threw at me.
I wanted to remember them,
and rub them like salt into the wounds.

Salt in the wounds is not meant as torture
but rather an aid to faster healing.
Salt stops infection and rot.
Salt in the tears,
and my blood,
and the ocean
…a seven percent solution for all.

I felt the stinging, twitching burn
when I lifted a handful
and poured it over my shoulders.
Like a horse
twitching off flies in the heat.
Like a cold goose-bump shudder
despite the sweltering heat dance
shimmering in my mind.

I can’t remember the date of your leaving,
the words that you said,
or the days and weeks just after.
But I can remember
that twitching under the skin...
the hurt,
and the hurt,
...and the hurt.
That, I will never forget.

I wanted to thrash
and rage into the night.
I wanted to howl at the moon and stars,
but I lacked the voice
and didn’t know how…
and so,
in time,
I learned.