Sara Borjas
Love Poem
Here is one way
love granulates:
he tells you
he no longer loves you
and you carry
your enormous basket
of his laundry back
downstairs. You begin
dating and he throws
a lasso around your neck
but is too weak
to pull you back.
//
I am tired
of men needing
to decide if they want
to try to love me,
even the ones
who already do.
//
When they return
each plea opens
me like a river,
but then memory
rushes in—this love
is already rippled—
and reverses
even water, like God,
into dust.