Darling Woman or How to Talk to Jesus

You will look at him like a savior,

Like Jesus.

You will pray for the resurrection,

Pray he can put your trembling bones back together

Like straws of a bird’s nest,

Like ashes of a house burned down to the ground,

Like dust under our squeaking beds.

You will clasp your hands together saying

Lord, please save me

Every time you see him in your apparitions.

 

He will let you crown his head,

Although his knuckles will bleed

Every time he runs them down your spine.

You will wipe the blood of your dresses

Wash them over and over again

Try to wash out the bad taste he leaves

Every time he leaves.

You cannot wash away the shame.

The shame - like a moist, black crow

Shrieking outside of your window

Every night you try to dream of him.

 

Darling woman,

Have you forgoten how he took an axe

Rammed it into every tree until the whole forest was gone,

Used the wood to light the fire

Under the house he has built you

Out of promises and dreams

As empty now

As your shattered bones

Whose ashes he shoved under his bed

While fucking another woman

At the rooftops of your hopes?

 

The rosary is in your hands

And you keep saying his name

And also:

It is fine. It is alright. It is okay.

There is nothing more despicable

Than to hear myself say

I am used to this.

I am used to forgiving.

I am used to being hurt

So much I do not cry anymore,

Just lay on the bed, flat out on my back

Staring at the darkness.

 

I am not afraid of the darkness anymore,

I am afraid of turning on the lights

And seeing that you are not here.

I have been staring at your absence for so long now

I learned how to build you out of the oxygen and nitrogen.

I am not afraid of the monsters in my closet anymore

I am afraid of the monsters I have grown to love.

 

Because if you cut me open right now,

Took my soul

And put it naked on a surgical table

You would see scars on my hips.

That was the first time you hurt me

And I tried to convince myself I can cut you out of me.

There is a bruise in a shape of a hand on my neck,

From all the times I could not breathe,

From all the times you wanted to hurt me,

But could not bring yourself to leave.

There are holes in my feet

From all the times you shot bullets

And tried to make me to dance for you.

My rib cage, my chest, my stomach,

It is all black and blue now,

Bruises that just won’t seem to leave.

 

You never raised a hand on me,

But you never had to,

Sometimes I wish you did.

If I looked at myself in the mirror

And was able to see loud and clear

All the ways in which you disrespected me,

Maybe I would be able to bring myself up to leave.

 

Instead,

I am on my hands and knees

Again and still

Praying for a resurrection

From someone who does not even believe in God.