moving on

Amanda Martin-Copyright 2009

moving on

I was never a smoker, but after you left
I smoked myself through an entire pack of Marlboro Lights

I burned a votive candle with the picture of the Virgin on it
and used its flame to light the first
I used the first to light the second
the nineteenth to light the twentieth

I transformed myself into a constant practitioner of stoicism
I read Nietzsche and believed in nothing
I read Nishida and believed I was nothing

I dyed my hair black and murdered it flat and lifeless with an iron
I plastered white cream on my cheeks to hide their color
I cloaked myself in black as though I intended to attend a funeral

I stopped ordering Lemon Drops and Strawberry daiquiris
I ordered whisky, dry, or a bottle of bitter wine
and hoped each time that the liquor would
turn my insides into a vinegary formaldehyde
or an acid that would rot away my many useless organs

I was never a Feminist, but after you left
I looked online to try to find some place to burn my bras in public
I figured it didn’t matter anymore if my breasts should sag or be of different sizes
Who cared whether or not they looked perky and welcoming?

I searched for someone to join me in my rage, my awakening, my liberation
I was somewhere around forty years too late

So I built myself a funeral pyre and threw my bras on top
I tossed all my lacy panties into the flames
I cut my all my hair off with an oversized knife
I rubbed the paint off of my nails and filed them to stubs
I washed away the color from my eyes and lips

Later, I went to a lesbian meet up without anything on beneath my dress
I flirted with everyone around me, and raved about the Feminine Mystique
I had never read the Feminine Mystique

I traveled to the local sex shop and bought myself a personal massager
I drove to the drug store and bought three packages of double-A batteries
and secretly hoped I would accidentally electrocute myself

I was never a rover, but after you left
I finally got around to updating my passport,
I withdrew all of my savings from the bank

I carried myself across borders, went as north as I could
I went downward until I could go no farther south, then traveled at random

I rode on horses and boats and one camel and taxis and buses
I took carriages and subway trains and light rails and streetcars
I walked and I walked and I walked and I walked
When my feet bled, I wrapped them up, and bought a bike

I filled up my passport with stamps and became an expert on
Disembarkation and Embarkation forms

I ate and drank a thousand things,
I attended weddings and funerals and quinceañeras and graduations and Bar/t Mitzvahs

I visited places where white was the color of death
I wore white there
I spoke the international language of silence
I think I was understood, though I still knew nothing
I hitchhiked and hoped my drivers were sociopaths.

I was never nothing, but after you left, I wasn’t anything
I lost and found and lost and found myself on a hundred different occassions

I erased your touches, melted every kiss away with Purell
I tattooed my arms, which had so often been in your arms
I jammed rings through the nose that you had loved to tease
and through my ears you had nibbled, my tongue…

I bought a cat to keep me company at night, to purr and love me
I named it after you at first, then changed it to something inane

I stayed awake for three months straight, I thought
I tried every fad and tried on every stereotype

I spent hours walking through graveyards, slipping past funerals
I was that strange woman in the background, quickly forgotten

I even went to grief counseling, would you believe it?
I told the man with the beard and a kind face everything, all of your secrets
I knew it didn’t matter anymore, how could it?

I bleached my hair and dyed it brown
I bought myself some new underwear
I removed my many rings and lasered away my tattoos
I packed my passport away in a safe deposit box
I somehow found myself a new job
I started rebuilding my savings
I got some Nicotine patches from the pharmacy
I “pulled myself together.”

And, yes, I even went to see you again
I brought you a dozen roses, white, and I carefully avoided

all the funerals in progress

I said good-bye, but I didn’t mean it
I lied to my counselor
I lie to him still

And I never for one moment intended to move on.