Ajar

If you just

twisted the knob,

you’d see it was

unlocked.

Awaiting your

footsteps

and then

your knock,

the way

my bum waits

for the

surprising

wake-up call

of your alarm

cock.

I said it.

You were dead before meeting me.

I meant it.

And I was a nomad before

that train ride home.

All my sexy travel stories

were precursors

and forewords

and interludes

and simulations

and openers

and knock-offs

and thrifts

and sterling silvers

and covers

of you.

For that face,

I'd say your rib

created me.

I would gladly accept

the patriarchy.

I'd let you rule me.

There's still flesh on the bone

I'd like to eat.

Speak.

Quit playing dead.

You always reappear

the moment

you enter my

head.

Is it telepathy

or is it

my own

witchery?

Twirling my finger

and continuing

history,

pulling some Matilda abilities,

cracking tea cups,

seeing prophecies

inside Turkish coffee cups.

I let go of the past

to make space

for you,

but you held onto it

and left no room,

as if scooting me off

a bed

where you

fucked me.

In trying to catch up to you,

you've aged me.

Outrun me.

In fathoming the you

back then,

you’re now

expiring.

My hair collects grays

and yours

you’re now

dyeing.

I’m wishing over candles

and broken bones,

knocking on wood

that weeps with

resin.

Jinxed

by my own

confession.

You’re not supposed to

reveal

your wishes.

Tell the truth

then the lie

diminishes.

You’re warded off

as if

scared

of crucifixes.

How young I feel

now.

A walking kid

with splinters in her toes—

is that how

you see me now?

Rug-burned knees

and scabby elbows?

This spark was

dormant

like herpes;

unrecognizable

and then painful

all at once.

I’m flared up

with mosquito bites.

I love you

and I hate you.

I want you

and I rebuke you.

You’re an icicle

that never bends,

out of fear of

snapping

like asparagus

attempting a

forward

fold.

Niceties

are cruelties

when we claim

truth is told.

I’ve chewed for so long,

I no longer want

to swallow.

Starving myself

until my stomach

becomes

hollow.

But you chew on

yesterday’s

swallowed food

instead of stepping into

tomorrow.

These secrets have made you

obviously

sick.

Your thoughts of me

buzzing

in my ears

and yet we call it

tinnitus.

Are you covered

now

in cobwebs of

haunted?

That the one you

hired

fired

you?

That your fear

of rejection

rejected you?

I am the spider

that lingers on

that dust,

the dried yoke

in broken eggs

of lust.

I’m scathed by

what you made me do.

Arms around their waist

to forget

the thought

of

you.

I'd hop off

their bikes

and instead

ride with

you.

I’d clear

all the bases

I crossed

to forget

your snowy

traces.

Touching base

was just a false promise.

Riding backwards on a train,

I faced forward

towards your town,

questioning if my past

would become

my future now.

I forgot

to forget you.

I forgot that it hardens,

this quickening concrete.

You could care less

yet I give out

free erections

on the street.

I perceived saturation

in your diluted colors

of modesty.

Your ambiguity

made me

fill in the blanks,

so how could you blame me

when you

never

explained.

These endings are mornings,

the way we wiggle our

fingers and toes

after sleep.

Shattering our dreams,

brushing them off like crumbs,

and awakening

to limbs that have

gone

completely

numb.

When you run out of ice,

do you use

your own

heart?

Dipping my finger

in your

bitter

coffee cup—

did I go too far?

Was your heart

light years away?

But your

far

was my

close.

Did you like my nose?

I saw you stare

as I looked at the houses.

Was my presence

an uninvited

phoenix

[into your safe life]

that pounces?

My questions

leave me with

whiteness

so that I may color

this illusion with

answers.

I made

a whole

out of a collection

of bits.

I gave birth

then resurrected,

and now the world is demanding

splits.

Thoughts wash and dry

in your mind.

Sitting for days,

wrinkling

on the

clothing

line.

You overthink your response,

tearing out the

pages and

leaving me with

the spine.

Yet your

silence

has made you

spineless.

The most quiet thing

has made my pain

so loud.

Cutting me

in the name of love

doesn’t make it

halal,

and yet what I thought was weight

was none other than

a turbulent,

ephemeral

cloud.

© Stephanie Khio 2024