You are so beautiful there isn’t anything to envy.
We never went there, but if we had
you would have found that
I was too broken for you to love anyway.
This is the first time in a long time
I consider that my fault
and not weakness on the man’s part
for you could hardly be blamed
in all your splendidness and promise
to put up with a woman like me
who was a patchwork of issues
and hangups and baggage disguised
as ten thousand poems in mid-flight
and you definitely could have done better
and did, but see,
the difference between her and me
is that she had been broken all the way
and healed properly before you found her
you could see the path
where the resin formed to close
the injury on the wood.
It is the color of fire and translucent like honey.
It would have been, in contrast,
impossible not to love her.
And this is the first time in a long time
that I lament the ways I had been rescued,
the coup de grace that missed, if barely,
the mysterious machinations of fate
that always kept the china of my many selves
from hitting the marble floor
despite the many times I had fallen,
always placing me back on the table
and passing me off as whole
just because the hairline cracks didn’t show
except through a deeper inspection
and yes, I’ve always been capable
of a deeper connection
but that thing—love, was so elusive
although I eventually found it too.
But for the first time in a long time
I’m doubting the whole story.
There is light spilling from the cracks
where nobody thought it important
to make my soul airtight.
And I see you.
You are a masterpiece of fire
and your memory tastes like honey.
KC Concepcion for Rogue Magazine, February 2008
by photographer Mark Nicdao