Cymbals 2020

Owning What I Can, Letting Go of What I Can’t
Illustration by Nina Kelban
I can confidently say miscommunication
was never on my part.
I at least owe myself that.
You are okay.
You are breathing and alive,
Look how pretty you still are.
White roses bleeding red
are still just flowers
blossoming from the empty bedside,
Your heart’s lessons
tucked into the creased sheets.
They did not break you.
You do not owe them that.
I will make anyone a ship out of driftwood.
Notice all their crooked lines
and that is how I fall for floorboards.
The first thing I have claimed is my silence,
The second is my word.
I am sorry, to myself, for being the bourbon,
Something to escape in,
Something to leave on the kitchen counter.
I am not sorry to anyone who still has me
on their breath.
Your selfishness will never find a place in my best
lines.
The mile walk to sun-dripped skin,
Phone calls to someone who is everything you
aren’t.
My love’s illuminessence,
in spite of the time I could not see her.
I am so much more without you,
and isn’t that the best part of leaving?
By Jillian Laper
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