surviving

in my stronger moments i like to think
about what i would do if i saw him again:
that in that moment of recognition,
i might feel the strength of rage, the heavy ice
of hatred that enables me to do anything,
that i could be capable
of returning hurt for hurt.
in my stronger moments i feel the weight
of that cold hate coursing through my body,
my veins shrink around it, my heart
throbs painfully in the shock.
what it has taken me four years to realize
is that these are my weakest moments:
that my desire to recognize his gait on the sidewalk
or see the turn of his jaw as he rounds a corner
and the immediate, whole-body reaction
of anger or hate or anything--
is still a gift of control that i make to him.
the beat of my heart is mine to own.
the pace of my blood is mine to temper.
how dearly i would love to rake
claws down his face, to bite and pull away
with his heat, with his blood, with his pulse
caught hot and meaty in my mouth--
these fantasies are not germane to me, they do not
belong inside my mind or my body.
but when someone has forced their way in
to your mind and your body it is hard
to evict them, even years later, even when you are
feeling control, feeling capable, feeling strong.