by Dawn Fryauff

I have been told
how to grieve
by a dozen well-intentioned souls.
I have watched friends
Seethe with the anger
that I seem unable to feel
towards the man as
innately part of me as
my name;
which no longer belongs to me.
One he freely gave,
now stolen and
upon my person as testimony
to my insufficiency.
A scar-turned-price-tag
for a thrift store display.
A used, poor condition heart.

Once we were blended
belonging to both ourselves
and each other
in a way only fashioned by that which is
Now I no longer belong
to myself
or him.

A scream
fills my lungs but
never escapes my lips.
The derelict scrap yard of
our life
rent asunder
surrounds me.
I search for
spare parts to


Category: Poetry, SNHU Creative Writing, SNHU online creative writing, SNHU Student