sacrificial lamb

the boy you loved

is gone

not dead, not vanished-

but buried,

interred in the shifting rubble

of the person i've since become

he is not me

no

he is not me

what you held-

that summer-limned softness,

that reckless light-

was smothered beneath layers

of borrowed gestures

and careful impersonations

i swallowed him

bit by bit

to survive

but if you want him back,

you must unmake me, 

every inch

you must take the blade

that lives quietly 

in the kitchen drawer-

the one no one asks about-

and come closer

cut me,

let the skin weep,

let the scarlet spill like psalms,

taste it if you must;

it's bitter, yes-

but he's on the bitterness

open me,

root through the hollow,

the warm cathedral of my ribs,

touch what pulses,

hold what remains

break me,

i want you to,

take the bones apart like kindling,

name each one after what we lost-

the first lie,

the second silence,

the third goodbye

you never said out loud

then drag me to the hearth,

stack me like an offering,

burn what's left

watch the smoke rise

until the moon-

yellow,

waxen,

guilty,

begins to tilt her head

and then maybe he'll come

the boy you loved

he will step out of the ash,

bewitched,

his eyes carrying your name

like a spell

he will take your hand,

and maybe, just maybe,

you will try again,

this time without all the

endings in your mouths 

the knife is waiting

and so am i