The Wedge
When there were two of us
there was one world
and one moon. When you
died, I was alone
in another world
whose two moons
of grief and rage
wax and wane
in the starless sky.
By their light,
all I eat becomes
ashes on my tongue.
Now I can't stand
to be touched
or to see anyone
touching. When I find
lovers, I set
this wedge between them:
love is no use,
though lovers are used;
who seeks to soothe
will only bruise.
Gregory Orr
Posted over on Slate Magazine
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