woke up this morning
and heard that last night
a woman just jumped out of a twelve story building
and I know why she jumped
twelve stories
Stories filled with forgotten playthings
and footsteps on all the men who walked out on her
Her first broken heart
Her first broken dream
her last dollar
and her last hope
Guilt over her self indulgence
when dressed in her mother's hopelessness
and her ancestor's shades of tragic sorrow
a plane ticket from her ex
that was never used
the ring he never gave her
tucked in her mind
castles of accomplishments
whittled to the gains like sands in a storm
salty little cubes of responsibility stacked
round her unhealed wounds
the visceral verities of liars and accusers
that stand before her, drunk with their own stupidity
raping everything beautiful
Her own redundant failures, failures, failures
Her desperation to struggle, to sojourn, to search
never surrendering
to "Still, not free?"
The inability to be all things
and the capability to know the implications
All the moments she said no to because she always said yes
The sharp edge of time grating her optimism
into something sprinkled on salads
or peppered over soup
that she eats despite the stones
the last listless kick of a little foot
a lamb in a stilled womb
Asking God for directions, angry for
her inability to understand them
woke up this morning
and heard that last night
a woman just jumped out of a twelve story building
and I know why she jumped
Though she is not me
and I am not her
I know
2 comments:
That's beautiful. I think most of us who feel things--feel them deeply (at times sharply)--do understand how you could cross that line.
Thanks Sally. You know this is something a little darker than I normally post but was inspired by a series of real events. I debated about posting it for a few days, but I think it is important to acknowledge the pain that we as women carry with us daily, and that it is okay to share our pain with others. Thank you for visiting and commenting!
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