Ode to the Ex Who Venmo Requested Me 45 Minutes After We Broke Up
When you left I lost sixteen pounds in seven
days
and I swear fifteen of them were heart
tissue. Then again
all I could stomach for weeks was watermelon
which was a tragedy in and of itself.
Shallots make me think of you
because for reasons I can't explain
we used to hide them around the apartment and
laugh.
The oven still has crumbs from my breakdown
over fish sticks
which remind me that you didn't make fun of
me
when I had a breakdown over fish sticks
and unfortunately
I think that might make you rare.
I laid in bed for three days
pillow glued to my face
because no tissue is big enough
to hold the weight of lesbian grief.
As you were leaving
you thanked me for loving you so well.
When I teach about irony
I make you my first example.
Did you meet someone new at our fountain?
Ask them about their trauma and tattoos?
Tell them all they'd ever need was you?
Do they know you have an Emmy award
for outstanding lead actress in a drama
series and that I played a supporting role?
They called it Codependency.
When you mentioned songs that would suck if
we broke up
you said "but we never will" so fast
I had no time to imagine it.
You thought that if you took a breath
it might give me a chance to leave
but I never was as good a sprinter as you.
I wish I'd had the privilege of knowing
you shattered like I did as you ran away
What a vibrant finale it must've been
to watch me blow up and disappear.
And when you left
I yelled after you in this broken squeal of a
whisper
and I still loved you all twenty-six floors
down.
But just when I think I'm moving on
you add something to our "who gets what'
spreadsheet
and it hits me again that five years
have emulsified into a custody battle
over our love-blender.
So I asked FedEx for their biggest box
but they don't make one that can hold how you
haunt me
how our plants wilted when you went away
the view from our apartment
now my apartment
and all that went static when you did.
I think back to when you said
home is wherever you are
a week before you left
and wonder why you seem entirely not homeless
now.
I put every card you ever wrote me in the
blender
and left it with your new doorman.
He asked if we were friends
and I said no.
When you find what you're looking for
you can hit blend.
And while you're out there searching
I'll be in the home we found together
where the dead plants remind me
that even if you nurture something
it can turn on you overnight.
The home with the Sherwin-Williams paint
drippings
from when we accidentally painted the bathroom
the wrong color.
Sometimes when you screw something up
you can't just paint over it and walk away.
I've never loved you like I do now
you said one week before you said
you didn't love me anymore.
You always called your ex a mistake
and said I was the silver lining.
I guess the silver lining now is that
before it was too late
you realized the same about me.
I hope your next silver lining doesn't snore or
have a Keurig
because I still want you to be okay.
The first thing I did when you left
was clean the bathroom grout.
Thought it might help to erase
the five years of shit you left me
to clean up on my own.
I got it white
but now it just reminds me of how gone you
are.
My dog also left with you.
We never talked about who would take her
or maybe hypothetically we did
but every hypothetical ended in I'd never
leave you.
Her fur is still in the vacuum chamber
the closest thing I have to a goodbye
and I just can't bring myself to throw it
out.
I sometimes wonder who will keep the chairs
but I'm sure you'll tell me on the
spreadsheet.
You always had an inordinate love for
spreadsheets
which probably should've been a red flag.
I see you took the bedding while I was out
I might be better off without it
because if you taught me anything
it's that I'd rather be cold than keep living
under the weight of you.
When you left I lost sixteen pounds in seven
days
became a fraction of who I used to be.
But when I teach about wholeness now I never
mention you.