I have forgotten the way
we loved with salt still on our skin,*
but not every secret
hurt. Blocked out the image of the stained blood
color of your lips against her pale parts, the sweetness
of her body meeting and filling*
your mouth, but not the way you looked
through me the night before I left.
You have conditioned me to be suspicious
of white women and black men.
Now. Everything is hostile
to me. The doors refuse to open.
The glass cracks when I touch it.*
Cruel reminders I am a stranger
in this house. I feel myself
unfolding and forgetting why.
We agreed to leave nothing left unsaid
and remain silent at the same time,
but the next time you mention loving her
just make sure you tell the truth about me*
* lines from Audre Lorde’s biomythography "Zami: A New Spelling of My Name"