I haven't had my heart broken.
But I have thrown it against another person
and broke it myself.

He would've looked handsome in wedding photos,
but even more in a suit and tie
on the other side of the divorce court.

He would roll up his sleeves like a lawyer.
He would say things like:
You ruined my life when you got pregnant.

As if babies were something a woman conjured inside
herself out of lovesickness and desperation.
A snare in which to trap a man like him.

But instead I broke myself on him like surf on the ramparts.
I foamed and spat and washed myself right back
out to sea again.

And all I have is a notch on my map, marking
a shallow harbor,
a few torn sails
and an empty womb.

Do you remember when we climbed the garden wall?
You slide down and cut your arm
I was mad because we couldn't beat the boys
You were mad because we tried
But I never told you
there was another path inside
He knew too, he caught me once
Sneaking past his window
With his knife to my throat, he proclaimed it his
But it was already my garden
Wild and overgrown

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you
There are other ways to beat the boys