I Will Dine Alone

I am the old one.
The ancient one.
The weary one.
I am before you
reluctant and bitter
a tattered old quilt
of patches and
threadbare fabric.

What did you expect?
A kind apology?
A warm explanation?
Anything but taut
straining sinews
aching to relieve you
of your pitying smile,
choking your compassion.

You drag me into the light
and say look! How beautiful,
how pink and fresh the wounds
and yet you are startled
when I reach for your throat
instead of my own,
refusing to dance as
your conscience demands?

You would do well
to retreat, reconsider,
accept and comprehend
if I choose to feast
upon my own heart
it is mine alone to
savor and devour and
dammit…

I will dine alone.

July 1, 2007
Kings Mountain, NC

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