Meditation
by Gail
I burned the books he'd given me,
tore out the pages, watched
the fast flames destroy the words he'd paid to own.
I broke the records I'd stolen from him
and bought CDs to replace the ones I liked anyway.
I chanted, burned incense, dreamed him
dead, bleeding from my knife in his chest,
crushed by a car, even the guillotine giving me
his head in the basket.
I climbed on men's thighs, lay
down on my back, cried out
to gods I believed in at the time,
and still the "yes, please"s that I always
breathed out at the end of resistance
came back to me with his knowing face
and its intent, triumphant smile.
I broke under the pressure
and the pleasure.
How do I break him back?
