Second to Someone

/ November 17, 2020

Those eyes haven’t looked at me
The way they looked at her
That once-upon-a-time when
Your heart would skip a beat
On her every appearance.

Your lips have never sighed my name
Like they still trace hers
When you, wrecked, heartsore,
Cry a river on your pillow cover.

Fingers, they’ve never caressed me
The way they cling to her nightdress,
Or thumb through that picture-book
Hidden under our mattress.

The heart that bleats in that chest
Never dances at the sound
Of my feet at our hearth,
But gallops for phantasms
Loud, like a foaming horse
Craving its own death.

Two flavors of agony –
Too disparate, too far gone.
You tarry for no one’s sake,
While I, with a borrowed name,
Cling to second-hand stakes.

I’m the weed on the grave of an angel;
The glutton with the illegitimate love.
The spurious spouse;
Always
second
to
someone.

….

Copyright © 2020 Pradita Kapahi

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