You were never mine—
that is the truth, carefully
avoided until the cracks
began to show—
            love, but not love,
            here, but not here,
hands held in shadows
or stolen bits of daylight,
            your darkness
                        mine,

held like a secret, and I drank it
            like wine, until
I misunderstood my own heart,
            until I forged feelings
like a thief, careless in my own desires—

            you merely played a part,
took on a name, smiled
as I offered you bone and soul,
            an honest sacrifice
                        you never asked for—
this was my mistake, one among many.

In the end, I buried it all
            in each of my bones, from rib
to foot, I swallowed the story
until it became something else,
            all ghost and no earth,
            all haunting and no air,
            every heartbeat, a new secret—

but no exorcism could keep me from you,
and that is also the truth,
that—despite the graveyard of devastation—
            I loved you,
and sometimes, I find you conjured
            here
                        and
                                    there,
by accident, because someone said something
and my heart insisted
            we were more than what we were,
            more than what I was to you,
            more than the nothing
            you left me with, after all those years
of dancing with hope.

In the end, everything burns down,
            until the mirror becomes clearer,
            until the truth speaks itself holy,
            until love stops screaming
                        at its own reflection,
and I bury it all once more,
            knowing the memory
will some day resurrect
            in the face of someone else.

 

(Editors’ Note: “Knight of Wands, Six of Swords” is read by Matt Peters on the Uncanny Magazine Podcast, Episode 54A.)

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