good Good good

“Here is the skin that you said you loved 
draped over the back of the chair in the kitchen. 
Here are the teeth. Here is the sternum, the 
clavicle, the fibula. Here are the angel bones 
laid out on top of the dresser like antique 
jewelry. Here are the earlobes, the knobbly 
elbows, the beauty mark near my temple 
that always got a moan out of you. Here are 
my thighs, my femur. All ten toes, all ten 
fingers. My pubic bone, preserved and 
wrapped in a velvet bag. Your name on the 
tag. Your name on everything. Here is 
the body that loved you. Here is the 
heart, bloodied and wanting. Here are
those drunk voice mails, the sober texts.
Here is your promise of staying. Here 
is the lonely hum in my brain where your
name used to be. Here is my spine. Here
is all the hollow. Here is all the longing. Here
is the heavy tongue, the scratchy vocal
chords. Here are all of the I love you's.
Here is the shocking wreck of it all. Here is 
how you were closer to me than my bones, 
my skin. Here is the quiet city, your empty 
side of the bed. Here is the empty. Here is not 
knowing whether you loved me or not. Here is 
the poem that can’t save us. Here.”
-Kristina. H