By Bernadette McComish
I am poured out like water,
spilled onto the floor, soaked into wood.
A terrible loneliness forces me
to love a man who says I don’t love you,
too many times.
Removed from me: all things visible,
I will not forget the one who came before.
O Lord,
I shall no longer look
for you in another man’s bed.
I’m sure, I am poured out like water,
slipped backward into the oceans.
I who am in love
have forgotten how to sleep alone.
In this bondage I am broken
and hungry.
How did my body liquefy
into a pool of bones?
Listen,
I am poured out like water,
do you hear me,
I hide
not, fear
not, want.
What shall I sacrifice
for healing and how do I
find you—
How many times do I have to be alone
before love
like yours.
