This is not me who walked to
the bathroom cabinet
and spilled pills into her hand

then fell to the floor in a heap.

This is not me who threw herself on her bed
and punched the pillow.

This is not me who slammed down the telephone
with the I Don’t Want You man.

This is not me who walked through the door
and ran to the phone, to check,
always to check.

The door was jammed.
The roads were licked slick with ice.

This is not me who checked her email
in the morning and read his note:
I adored last night

This is not me last night lying in
the ‘L’ of his arm while he stroked
her sweaty hair, laughing,
I could get used to this
and her thinking,
Me too.

04/04/2006

Posted on 04/04/2006
Copyright © 2024 Lisa Marie Brodsky