—YOU SAY GOODBYE, AND I SAY HELLO

 

 

BALLADZ   /    Sharon Olds 

 

  

What’s strange to me this morning, is I think that you still love me, even though I have written this.

 

Love is the love of who we are, it is a form of knowing.

 

How much difference is there, anymore, between me and a cadaver?

 

I’m not saying Go f. yourself. You have done that.

 

My equipment for staying alive is running out.

 

Of course I am a killer, I am human.

 

There was what they said, and what they meant, and what they did.

 

I chose ballet lessons because I loved dancing, and the feeling, like begging to be liked—a kind of sneaky labor.

 

I guess we all lose everyone always, until we are lost ourselves.

 

My passport has been the Chardonnay label on the bottle, its contents have been the loop-de-loop of my fun-fair ride.

 

I used to think I would never throw myself away.  

 

For a moment the core of my life was not desire, but the knowledge of my unearned luck.

 

From birth I was a storyteller, and a liar, addicted to narratives.

 

Who are You? Are you a Nobody too?

 

I’d accept the gift, I would love your fucking pity.

 

“And I think my dolls sort of like me,” I say.

 

How much longer can I live without touch?

 

From now on it couldn’t be my mother who was fearsome to me. It would have to be me.

 

Imagine being able to calm the one you love best, who loves you best. 

 

Someday I will run out of tears.