Buckle

pieces of something not fully formed

How could I let anyone else call me CD

As if you own my initials

while another woman owns your last name.

An entire lifetime waiting for you and you have the audacity to tell me I’ve moved on too soon.

You don’t want to see me happy, but you can’t look away.

The scene is fresh and unfolding.

Pink returning to my cheeks. Your weight off my chest. My lungs clear.

Seven years sad luck.

A kintsugi repaired mirror. Not the same for the next person, different.

Golden veins.

Stronger somehow.

I won’t break for him the way I broke for you.

Knees unbuckled. Jaw unclenched.

Softer somehow.

As long as I don’t remember that you used to call me CD.

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