Glowed Like Burning Coal 

He was married when you first met, 
soon to be divorced. 

You were 17; 
frantically searching for the last straw, 

bearing witness to your mother’s
("      " ) dying. 
(prolonged)
(命运和生命的罪与罚）

It was a known and shared fact, that 
this won’t end pretty; 
and denial came in the the shape of 
feeding on each others’ grandiose promises.
They are the dancing flames you throw your papery figure into; 
distractions are far more reliable than hopes unsure. 

You faintly recall the aroma of a walnut,
cut in half and oiled, 
some poem about persimmons, 
a couple love letters, 
filled with selfish and ambitious question marks, 
soaked in tea and then baked in the oven.

You think about how
you read Gatsby out loud in his class; 
(He is your literature teacher.) 
then you also think about 
how you read Harry Potter out loud 
to his daughter,
(Right..he has a daughter.) 
every Wednesday night, 
when he goes on a date night… with his wife. 

You are afraid of his wife. 
You can’t even say her name without feeling bad. 
Bad, 
in so many ways.  
How could you do that to her? 
What did she do to hurt you? 
She is so… 
intelligent, and 
thoughtful, 
distant, 
untouchable, and 
flawed in a way that only he would understand. 
The game between you 
will always be zero-sum. 


You think about why is you. 

He was drawn to 
your big hair’s unruliness, 
the dried clay on your skirt,
and of course, 
your shyness, 
a kind that he would only find in nymphs with the perfect ripeness. 

..


He told you he likes the way your mind works. 
You played with his words for a little too long in your mimd. 
And now 
those words are tattooed on your scars. 
They have nervous energy in them, 
regurgitating between the stomach and the mouth.  

You wanted his attention, 
you wanted his reaction. 

He knew. 

Your mother, with only partial mobility
struggled, urgently to offer her faint words. 

(caption / silent: “He doesn’t love you.” ) 

You knew.

You were his excuse to leave the dinner table. 

He made you feel so special… 

You were his song of himself.