When you cut me from your life,
did you use scissors?
Did you cut carefully
like I was a curving,
Occasionally I feel like
a frayed ghost limb
from a thoughtless tear.
Maybe I was creased first
before you casually
pulled me apart.
With the same soft swipes you’d use
to shoo dust off your loved one’s cheek.
Did you use a cookie cutter?
I’ve felt shaped differently since.
I don’t feel you balled me in your fists before discarding me,
but I feel crumbled nonetheless.
Did you commit my calligraphy
Recalled our childhood and chronicled
all we had,
held me to your heart,
before you severed us?
Whether you shunned me away into a
water-stained box, full
of your childhood knick knacks, waiting
for your hands to wrinkle to be
or tossed me into the same wastebasket
of shredded due dates and credit card offers,
I still have to ask.
Did you have the decency to use a pair of shears?
Once they said we were cut
from the same cloth.
Yet I still feel the ripping
from your bare
– Rachel R. Vasquez, September 2017
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