Goodbye
is the foulest
word
I've ever
tasted.
It's chipped bark
crumble
on my tongue
leaves the organ
stiff
and bleeding,
the ashy paste
of sentences
I never
lent life
coating my teeth,
and eating away
at enamel
the way
your fingers
once consumed
my skin;
I would
rather
let the screen
door
speak for us,
the clang-click
of metal
and latch
twining cold
bodies
together
and heralding
the end
of the morning
with a sharp
aluminum
kiss.
The great beast
growl
of your engine
can purr
its reply
to metallic
lovers,
and the
drooping tree
beside the
porch
will lift lazy leaves
in a last
swaying
wave.
I'll let
the kettle
heat through
as my body
did for you,
and while you
roll away
soft
into the
burgeoning
day,
The steam
that boiling water
births
will climb spout
walls
as silence does
my throat,
and scream
what I
can't:
"goodbye"
About the Creator
Teyana Jackson
An aspiring writer and poet currently living on the East Coast. More work can be found on allpoetry.com, thebluenib.com, and in the poetry anthologies "Circular Whispers" and "Seasonal Perspective"
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