Something Else


Pinning my then
small body
under yours
("Don't worry. I'll be gentle")
you were done in
seconds
-- I was done in
for years.

Too young
to even know
what had been taken,
you left
feeling what?
power?
-- and left me
somewhere beyond feeling.

Years later,
a soon-to-be husband,
countered my concerns
with "We'll work it out"
You meant , "I will open you like a flower"
I meant, "I cannot meet you halfway"
-- neither knew
we didn't know.

Then I awoke
to find you over me
("You are so beautiful.”)
I took my legs
and heaved you
out of my heart
-- my beauty is not
your weapon

I did not blossom,
so you slammed your frustrations
into our cabinets.
I needed to say that
you cannot scream
a wild thing into your lap
-- but the hunted have
few words for the hunter.

I suggested counseling,
you replied,
"You go,
you're the one who's frigid"
And I did go
into another man's bed
and I wasn't frigid
-- but I wasn’t proud
so I stopped.

And when you,
my soon-to-be ex-husband,
finally said,
"I'm ready,
let's get help"
I had already decided
-- if this was love
I wanted something else.


Sarah Wilson was born to a middle class family in a middle class neighborhood outside of Boston with plenty of under-the-radar drama but it's all old news now. She was basically asleep until her mid 20's, when she had the good fortune to nearly die, slapped her on her way-too-cushy spiritual ass. She bawled loudly but then stood up. Has been living her dreams since, with the exception of honoring her poetry; as a childhood sweetheart, it deserves better from her.