Sylvie Hill

Disheartened

When you gifted me this:
The split chest
The burning and the darkness
Well, dear, I knew you were my kind.

When he gave me pearls…
Some book by some author…
And a re-cast dinner plan with flowers?
Well, dear, I knew he was not of my time.

When he gave me plastic lobsters,
his German school pin, records,
Kurt Cobain sweater, t-shirts,
well, dear, I knew he was exactly mine.

And through the zippered chest
(I did that to him.)
And through his cut ribs
(His congenital heart condition operation.)
And through his pulmonary implosion
(If he had a scar, I missed it…) …

…I was always disheartened.
Pining for the forgotten —
the left-behind man that preceded him.
Except with Faraway Man
I could consume him —
Fiercely interested in his every minute.

But so she becomes interested
When the interest safely won’t be reciprocated.
Yet all their hearts (except his), beated, deepened,
as they pounded with blood and semen.

When you gifted me this:
The split chest
The burning and the darkness
Well, dear, I knew you were my kind.

Do not give me shit
suitable for on-looking kids
or for hanging in a suburban home,
beige walls, like.

Keep it deep
But meet me on the surface.
Keep yourself serious
in the sunshine.
Keep it real
But feed my trip
and fuck me off
with a slight smile.
Keep to me
but maintain individuality.
Act like you’re not
scared if I leave.
Creep into my chest
at night, give vulnerably
Remember me how to
Expose mine…

Sylvie Hill December 24, 2018