When was the last time you were whole?
When was the last time you used your hands for more than halving your heart? I wonder – I wonder.
And as a woman, do you feel like you’ve ever gotten it back? The garden of your body you let the men dig up until you worried there was nothing left. But maybe they returned – years later – maybe they returned and you were full bloom – a blood moon and tangerines.
Maybe you kissed them. Maybe you only wanted to.
Maybe you forgot their names.
Is it true you stopped thinking of your body as a garden? In the night, you say it became something darker – I hope you found yourself there; bone and blood and snarl. I hope you left no trace of sweetness.
Are you whole now? I hope you’re whole now. And that you use your hands to claim the heads of those who have hurt you, just like your mother should’ve taught you.
No one can take it all away.