I’ve got all these little jagged pieces in me.
Aquamarine sea glass
embedded in my spine and spleen, and
rough diamond
buried deep in my liver and lungs.
They’ve taken up residence in the caves
where the people I’ve loved used to live.
There’s a reason why they stayed in caves,
instead of palaces, however.
It’s funny, I guess,
how I so thoroughly forget my grief,
until my hands forget their way
down the curves of my ribs
and slice themselves open
on the precious gems you gave me.
My body is a burial ground
upon which I dare not tread. And,
the most precious things I own,
the most precious things I am,
are all secondhand from someone else.
I’ve got a magpie kind of love, so, please, be careful, before I steal the best parts of you. (a.p.)