The Buried Woman

We are sitting around the pool,
talking about love—
what we give,
what we take,
what we want.

I’m tipsy enough for my edges to soften.
Tom is looking at me when he says,

“I’ve never seen you go all in for love.”

He knows the me who came after you,
the one who weighs every word
to make sure it’s not too heavy,
who keeps her eyes on the bright red EXIT signs.

I remember when your name felt like shelter,
before every conversation turned into something
we couldn’t take back.
Now it tastes like blood
between my clenched teeth.

Sometimes
I cry because inside all this anger
is the woman
who would have chosen you
every time.

She’s buried now.
I don’t know who started diggging first.
We both still have dirt beneath our fingernails.

The hardest part now
is knowing if we passed each other tomorrow,
we’d be strangers
who remembered the taste of our kisses
while living as if our mouths had never met.

I’m laughing
to keep the tears from spilling over
as I promise,

“You never will.”