how far have you walked for men who’ve never held your feet in their laps?*

I make fire and sit before him
close enough to imagine what burning feels like.
You see, fire doesn’t just light
it cooks.
And my bones crack with the heat:
a dialogue with the crackles of his timbered bones
some sort of recognition between us. We are much alike.
And he dissolves with forgiveness all those times
when I said
yes
but meant
no.
All the times I said no
but my no was weakened by circumstance.
When I opened but craved to remain folded
like a bud, or a fruit not yet ripened.
The i love you too that echoed out of me, a perfect lie
my lips shaped into being.
The times I stretched for love and folded to belong pretending
Pretending to feel and soften.
The how do you feel and how are you
always met with
good and fine.
I learn from him
the burning
the annihilation
the purity of starting all over.
The heating and melting
and loving into truth.
I learn from him to say
no more
and
no, thank you.

*The title is a line from a poem by Warsan Shire called Questions For The Woman I Was Last Night