What I ate dirty

by Jennifer MacBain-Stephens

splitters to invade
glass to cut
crayons to melt
felt to feel
your turning away
velvet to cherish
plastic to scorn
leather to shine
my buying the wrong
thing, your
corduroy to rub
flint to spark
oil to cleanse
metal to reverberate
animal to feed
that I didn’t want
cardboard to slice
vinegar to burn
making a dish,
hair to hide
my hair to comb
alone, your empty
study, your porn,
my face like marble,
to solidify words,
no oxygen to free,
rocks to weigh,
rings that are meaningless,
unsaid words to cry
my wiped face
to disappear
your look over
a film, your
missing tickets,
your closed door,
your not calling
your nights out
your lack of help
your ease in lying,
your driving away
that night and
every night after
until there were
papers and someone
else’s perfume,
and a moving truck
and a different state
and now I’m
alone because
I chose it.