Poetry of Stephanie Bennett Henry, Uncategorized

Table for One

I know it’s all my fault.

When has it not been?

I forgot I was serving your plate

along with mine

and feeding on both

in the binging

until it hurts.

I’m fed up in the way

this table is always set

with cruel intentions

and guilt tastes the same

no matter the purging.

I look at my hands

and they’re so fucking clean,

but they are tired.

Tired of cleaning the dirt

from your fingernails

and apologizing for your absence.

The green doesn’t pay

for the vacation of your choosing,

or does it?

Maybe this is just me

washing the guilt away

in the rapid cycling

that lives here…

Maybe this is just me

showing you my open wounds

and maybe…

this is a good time to compare

our battle scars.

I’m the winner

that didn’t win anything

other than this load I carry

of yours and mine;

we died the day you said fuck it

and left me to clean this mess

as if I made it alone.

Stephanie Bennett-Henry


3 thoughts on “Table for One”

  1. I read this and in my mind I hear Leonard Cohen sing a verse from The Stranger Song:

    “And then sweeping up the jokers that he left behind
    You find he did not leave you very much not even laughter
    Like any dealer he was watching for the card
    That is so high and wild
    He’ll never need to deal another
    He was just some Joseph looking for a manger
    He was just some Joseph looking for a manger.”

    And if you think that put you in good company as a poet, you’re right.

    Liked by 1 person

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