Alone in bed thinking about another breakup

I’m not brave because I leave gently. It’s not mercy

when the kill lives serving self. I told my therapist

I’m through with villain portraiture but I keep leaving promises

to wilt. Even this is vanity—garden of self-importance. I’m rambling.

What I mean to say: Love is larger than declaration. & chrysanthemum

don’t thrive in starless night. Who am I to light the sky? I know, no one

loves to end any more than we live to die, but I’m learning not to clutch

the ground so fierce. To trust life is a series of orbits;

worship mercy in routine. I know this part like lost love:

gripping sheets, curling toes, tongue feels righteous but don’t fill

empty space. All hollow goings. Carving fresh cavities to become

known. Nimble fingers, sigh & sweat. Fill me full

of hope. After, glow

again fading.

Back to wilting,

gentle kill.

You up?

Copyright © 2024 by Ty Chapman. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on August 5, 2024, by the Academy of American Poets. 

Subscribe to the Poem-a-Day Podcast 

  

“This poem is [about] grief and selfishness. The kind that occurs at the end of romantic relationships. Both the poet (I) and the speaker (I-adjacent) are interested in the cyclical nature of intimacy—all its beginnings and endings. In particular, I seek to center the ways hurt people seek solace in physical intimacy—how easy it is to return to known behavior in grief. I open the poem in a self-critical nature, as I feel sharing one’s flaws and mistakes is among the most intimate actions a person can take. In this way, I invite the reader into the space.”
—Ty Chapman