This…

By Marty McConnell

leaving is not enough; you must
 stay gone. train your heart
 like a dog. change the locks
 even on the house he’s never
 visited. you lucky, lucky girl.
 you have an apartment
 just your size. a bathtub
 full of tea. a heart the size
 of Arizona, but not nearly
 so arid. don’t wish away
 your cracked past, your
 crooked toes, your problems
 are papier mache puppets
 you made or bought because the vendor
 at the market was so compelling you just
 had to have them. you had to have him.
 and you did. and now you pull down
 the bridge between your houses.
 you make him call before
 he visits. you take a lover
 for granted, you take
 a lover who looks at you
 like maybe you are magic. make
 the first bottle you consume
 in this place a relic. place it
 on whatever altar you fashion
 with a knife and five cranberries.
 don’t lose too much weight.
 stupid girls are always trying
 to disappear as revenge. and you
 are not stupid. you loved a man
 with more hands than a parade
 of beggars, and here you stand. heart
 like a four-poster bed. heart like a canvas.
 heart leaking something so strong
 they can smell it in the street.