We’re done. Done, done, done, done.
D. O. N. E.
I’m washing my hands of it and walking away.
I see myself happier without you. I see you happier without me.
I see us both unencumbered, untangled.
So, I stomp on this metaphorical grave; I pile rocks and form a cairn. I stomp and sway. I sway and swing. My feet muddy, twigs and bits of flower petals stuck to them, I dance in the firelight.
What was between us is dead.
I’m throwing what remains into a burning boat.
I’m giving it a Viking funeral – its corpse fluttering and flaming brightly under the endless July stars.
I’m watching from shore as the boat sinks into black water. I’m filling my pockets with striated and speckled stones.
As I head back to the car, I think about whether to have a funeral feast or a ritual fast to celebrate.
Maybe my stomach full or maybe empty.
Maybe my house a tomb or maybe a sanctuary.
We’re done; I cannot stop crying with both relief and joy.
We’re done and I realize I’d have cut off my own arm to make this so.
Maybe now I can breathe again.
Maybe I’ve still got a little life left.
So, I light a candle and burn incense.
I chant Sanskrit prayers in the flickering light.
I’ve laid us to rest and it feels good.
© 2016 Shavawn M. Berry All rights reserved
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