my dearest, jane
i hope this letter finds you in good health
it has been eleven months since you left
the sun is not warm anymore
summer left with you, jane
has your scar healed?
it was so red the day we met
would it be foolish to call it a prophesy
because i feel like a scar, only without the healing
my hands still reach out, but they don't touch yours anymore
my days feel like the moment between two breaths
most days i touch my empty bedside and pretend you've only gone to the loo
dearest jane,
my husband doesn't look me in the eyes now
i don't mind, i can't bear the accusations
you might call me selfish but i call it preservation
dearest jane,
i wish i could have said goodbye
but dignity was a cage even i could not break through
your back is etched in my memory
a hymn i recite morning through night
dearest jane,
i do not regret a thing
dearest jane,
the children ask me why you're not around every day
they think your mother is sick but you'll be home for christmas
dearest jane,
i love-
dearest jane,
i hope this letter never finds you.
YOU ARE READING
HYSTERIA
Poésieand i will ruin you for loving me. and you will love me for ruining you. an attempt to reclaim the madness that defines femininity
