When you tell me, there is no point—
you don’t belong here, I become the wailing
woman, La Llorona. You don’t want me to cry
—it isn’t necessary, but you need to know
the depth of devastation your absence will cause.
For you, I will turn into Scheherazade—
except it’s your life I’m trying to save (and yes,
I think it’s worth extending into old age). I don’t know
what stories my head will spin to distract you
from desiring death. I create a list of cities and villages
we have to explore together. You need to see the temples in Thailand,
and get tattooed in New Zealand, you had dreams we wandered
the palaces in Turkey, and I dreamt we spoke French on a corner
bistro in Paris. Give me a chance to weave this into our reality.
Should you go, I will find ways to summon you
back; I don’t fear necromancy nor the fallen,
and even Hades couldn’t live without love—
he’d understand if I came begging and sobbing
about how I don’t want this life without you.
After the maelstrom
Every morning the wound is fresh,
and I’m afraid to be alone—I want
to cut a hole under my rib cage, allow it
to become a whole avulsion so I can breathe
again, and the infinite stream of blood that tries
to choke me has somewhere new to go. Nothing is hidden.
Questions cloud my mind so I can’t sleep:
Will she be a big deal to you? Will you curl
against her when she sleeps? And promise
you’ll be a better man so she’s never disappointed?
I need to regret you for a little while;
I can’t try to save you every Sunday,
and I can’t absolve you from this chaos.
Marisa Silva-Dunbar is a Pushcart nominated poet. Her work has been featured in: Royal Rose Magazine, Pussy Magic, Bone & Ink, Amaryllis, Midnight-Lane Boutique, and Constellate Literary Journal. She graduated from the University of East Anglia with her MA in poetry. Marisa is the founder and EIC of Neon Mariposa Magazine. She has work forthcoming in Honey & Lime, The Charles River Journal, Dark Marrow, and Apathy Press