After the Last Supper

After Lawrence Ferlenghetti’s “I Am Waiting”

“And I am waiting for the last supper to be served again with a strange new appetizer”

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I’ve boxed up old versions of myself and

stored them where only memory and I

can find them. I am

done standing alone, waiting

for someone who would offer distance for

love, or what I named the

situationship before its last

candle blew out at our supper

table, where silence learned to

sit beside me and be

loud, where hard truths served

survival lessons again and again.

I wear my scars with

pride and honor, a

broken woman who has outgrown strange

grief, transformed into a new

creature that will not be devoured like an appetizer.