Let You In

by Justine C. Tajonera

I have already let you in.
Pieces of you and pieces
of me
share the same spaces,
fill my mind with
useless mementos.

There is the jar of
candy that I gave you,
the cup of ice cream
that we both liked,
the spongy toy
you gave me
that makes me weep
or cringe
as it loiters
on my already crowded
desk.

I have already let you in.
There is no taking back
the time.

As much as I have
tried to purge
what little
there was,
I invited you in
at the beginning.

And that is where
you will stay.

No one ever told me
the rules
of the heart:

That there is no
diminishing,
that it can only
grow,
no matter
how painfully
it does.

June 29, 2010

Image of a heart sponge from http://www.flickr.com/photos/tomgruber/493465010/

Borrowed

By Justine C. Tajonera

I've heard of borrowed time
but that's not all we borrow.

I look at my hands,
my feet,
I feel the movement of
my shoulders,
the perfect swing of
a femur, moving me forward,
a ball joint in my hips,
animated.

Synapses fire away as
I write these words.

Is my soul really mine?
Is the fire in my belly,
the holy pyre of my mind,
the light between my eyes
really
mine?

Nothing is
really
mine.

I hold up a fist
and open it,
let go
of the things
that keep me
closed.

When I shed this body,
will I remember
this gesture
of love?

(Jan. 8, 2010)
Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/ashleyrosex/3604936492/