How Do You Save Your Life?
You throw out everything you've ever known
You toss with it all ideas about who you are and
What you are capable of;
And you begin by surprising (only) yourself
with your independence and passion.
You heave it...all over the cliff...
Every coffee pot, napkin, vase,
Damask tablecloth from wedding wishes, used
Through the years, you struggled
To keep pace with excruciating conversation at dinner
Parties with his office couples. Your insincere
Housewife remarks
echo in your stainless kitchen.
Dull sex at midnight after dishes and tuckings-in.
Today you burn with rage, regrets,
When the conversation you want is full
Of social passion, fierce feminist sentiments,
Laughing out loud.
You throw it all away...everything you have ever owned...
You wipe your hands, embedded with dust,
On the sofa you paid three same as cash payments,
Gave more than you could afford.
...everything you have known...you push it off the edge.
You wrap up the Pyrex and the Tupperware in unused satin teddies.
With the Eddie Bauer, the Ikea, and the Plymouth minivan,
You gather this all up in your over-stretched
Aching heart arms, and throw it all over the cliff.
You heave it...all over the edge.
Not only heave. Not only over. Not only the cliff.
You throw over all you know about yourself,
with a strength that surprises you;
So hard and so far,
that where it first lands is safely
Out of your desperate grasp.
Then vertigo hits.
When terror rises in your gut,
Heartburn at full term, it catches your breath.
Dizzy, you recognize nothing
except your reflection in their eyes.
You heave it with a strength,
grown from seething anger,
Tiger rampage you didn't know existed.
You heave it...all...
You throw it all away.
The stuff, the self-esteem, and the pretenses,
What you thought you were.
You heave it with such ferocity,
That it sucks that simper off your face,
And your complacency away with it.
This is how you save your life.
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