Uprooting

by Midya Tsoy

Anger like a beet              that day.

He left                                the unmade bed              the photo of us ice-skating for the first time

torn in half on the night stand.

My ego says goodbye.

Tranquillity like the air      I breathe                        after the lid of a jar is taken off.

Five years too long.            I have wanted to break loose                so let me be.

The gashes                           I wear:

first tug                                 first goodbye.              When I said stay                     he left.

Returned and I held the front door wide open     again.                                       The second tug.

He didn’t stay.

He engraved in me             like his “I love yous” etched into my head.

I                                            thick root                         too far in

uanble

until I am pulled out of the dirt.

From the earth                  I am born, erupting.

Don’t look back                 at the thrown out Frank Sinatra CD

and Duffy’s episodic love story Rapture that keep my sleep from me.

I don’t miss you.               I won’t.

I will sit in the only place you never walked                                  down in my laundry room.

Make a cup of coffee                                          and listen to the swishing of clothes I rediscovered

from my closet                you hated.                My grenadine skirt and blouse of guipure lace…

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