What I Would Say to the Fisherman

I would say “what were you thinking?”

I would cup my palms around his beautiful, pale cheeks and ask him if he’s sorry. 

When he says no, show him no pity. 

Slide your palms down to his neck and squeeze. 

Do not think about the time that he lay on your lap heartbroken. 

Do not remember the 2am time he Scotch taped your shattered heart back into your empty ribcage.

Instead, think of the girl he ruined. 

Think of her broken spine and her hollowed out stomach. 

Then look at his hands with the bloody spoon and the smoking gun. 

He broke her. He gutted her like a fishermen and a pearl. 

He saw something beautiful and then decided he deserved it. 

Like the Europeans, like the bully, like the fishermen. 

The strong muscles of the clam are no match for a man with a knife, for a man with an enticing smile.

I used to love that smile. 

I used to love that boy.

 

Now, every time I think of you I have to apologize to my teeth. 

They suffocate under my clenching jaw. 

I have to apologize to my palm. It bleeds under the slicing of my fingernails. 

Every time I think of you I have to apologize to my eyelashes, 

my knuckles, my thighs, my liver, my spine…do you notice how I’m always apologizing for you? 

So instead of teaching you the language of apologies, 

everyday I will wear a pearl necklace to remind you about the life you took to make it.