PicsArt_02-21-08.58.53

Souvenir

This old favorite shirt,
sits in a box somewhere.

I remember wearing it for you,
always curling my hair, cleaning
your house, giving you my body
on nights we danced together,
& then again at dawn, before

you’d leave for work. You were
supposed to be the better one–

the one who knew tenderness,
the one who didn’t hurl insults.
Definitely the one who didn’t
stain this shirt with my blood

or have me in stitches at some
local ER.

Your jealous Tequila rage
is what I remember most now.
The shirt, a souvenir that reminds me
of all I can no longer endure, from
anyone.

I was too fragile for your angry,
calloused palms. You crushed me
in your fist, & my heart just
fell away…

-Heather Lenz