In the beginning I played for you
Lady Day in my white dress, a droplet
of a woman enchanted with herself,
will you follow my dear boy?
What were we then but lonely.
No, I pushed back, as I opened my dress
No, I’m too much for you
I’m too much for anyone
only I confused (stupid girl) it with not
being enough. You knew then, didn’t you?
Too nice to say so, to shy to look me
in the eye but around you I was learning
gravity. The bills were paid. The house was bought.
Our girl was born. A diamond made me cry.
We settled in too heavy.
I wasn’t doing so well, you know,
even then. How was I this woman,
this lover, this mother when I
never had a sole reflection in that mirror
above the bed, and the one in the armoir,
and in the hall, all these expectancies. You,
so static, emphasized my chaos
I once used as love. Or believed was.
When we fall apart,
when we crack from what isn’t,
we are left bewildered–that that one person
we tried to deceive
offers shelter shelter
and could paint your face.