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This poem is part of a ‘resurrections’ project to summon ancient and mythical women into present day, in the hopes that inhabiting their feelings, fury, and patience will bring new understanding.
I bleed out of every memory of you. You taste like
unfolding. A sanctioned procession of loves.
Loyalty is as tall as salt. No one has asked me yet
what I’ve witnessed. What I wish I’d burned behind
me. I layer the confessions so long and untrue that
you, blundering and dead, wouldn’t know beauty
even with a divine compass. If all I am is fury then
all I am is fury. I hated the ‘we’ in front of destiny.
Something to untangle. Something on my list. A gift
to be sick, psychically separated from you. There is
a gleam in the dark. A promise to love me if I am
good, good, good, if I am shallow and haunted as
old cities as old hands as fading beauty. As loyalty.
As fury.
Marcella Haddad loves writing, traveling, and armadillos. She completed her MFA at UMass Amherst and was a Tin House YA 2022 Scholar. Her work has appeared in Variant Literature, Okay Donkey, Empty Room Radio, Apparition Lit, and others. You can find her in a tree or at marcellaphaddad.com.
Website: marcellaphaddad.com
Twitter: @marcie_via
