Foot Bindings
I asked my grandmother how she knew she'd fallen in love.
I am not sure I ever did love him, she said.
This was before I met my husband. I was naive, a naked spring, a raw nerve
of a thing. That cannot ever be me, I knew. Sadness swept in gently like a Moscow thaw.
It is no simple thing, looking into a woman's vast soul and seeing its foot bindings.
Now, in Italy divorced with my skin singed off, when I say I don't love him mean: I have succeeded at feeling nothing most days and it mostly works.
Do you want the comfort of Nothing? Do you want Nothing, too? Be warned:
you'll never be free, even when you are nothing. Here is what doesn't work: Accepting the stages of grief. Talking about it. Sitting with the feeling.
Missing himโno, the person you were when you believed in death do us part.
Writing poetry. That, too. When I say I don't love him I mean:
I feel capsized in an endless, starved tide. What sometimes works:
selective memory. You must forget ripe tomatoes and his beard and feeling perfectly sheltered in a big blue world.
Forget coffee in bed, laughter watching TV, blowing out the candles
on the birthday cake and the quiet all-encompassing knowledge that you are chosen. Remember only how love turned to a banal everyday survival act, a trapeze act unsure whether he will catch you, how the warmth stagnated and became sour, remember the foot bindings and remember the resentment boiling
in your veins as you stick it out for the kids. Six-hour Netflix binges help, too.
A man's fingers tracing your spine. Frozen pizza at 2 a.m.
Random trips to the museum just to stand near things that last a while.
The realization that crying wonโt change anything. Seeing that life is
just a dream, and refusing to participate in your own suffering.
Bite your fist.
Walk on eggshells around joy.
When I say I don't love him, I mean he didnโt break my heart, he just stopped touching it
and it forgot how to beat right.
Comments (10)
Another example of human sub intelligence yet in the midst of such debauchery done humans rise up to help and promote animal well being. Another thank you. The more who comprehend than the more who actively care
OMG, that was a heartbreaking gravestone to read. Tragic.
This is sad, humans can be awful
The cruelty practiced in this world had always astonishing to me. But human trophy predation of animals, especially the ones that have grown desperately rare is revolting. Loved your poem, Andi, even though greatly saddened by its content.
Wow, thatโs heavy! The rhino graveyard imagery hits hard, and the memorial stones really pull at the heart. Itโs a simple but powerful reminder of whatโs been lost. Great job capturing that feeling!๐๐
That is so brutal ๐ฅบ๐ข
wonderfully important poetry! this made mme violently sad and angry! well penned and vital, Andrea!
Awwwwww nooo!!! ๐ฅ๐ญ๐ญ๐ญ๐ญ๐ญ๐ญ๐ญ
This broke my heart so much ๐ญ๐ญ๐ญ
Another one of my faves, and a beautiful haiku.