Configuration of weeping, I beg you,
cease. My new lesson is how to not shed:
to not leave bits of myself behind,
even if it’s just protein, dead hair.
I prayed and what did prayer avail?
Your needful eyes in anticipation—
Behold what your weeping has made
of me: weakened, down on both knees.
I must wipe the world clean of me:
keep even the split ends to myself.
Do you refuse your own answer?
Your eyes are open wounds, heal.
Figure, I eat more than you feed, I see more
than the light on your disconsolate face.
I could cry and sweep and boil out
water from duct to floor to moor.
The scent of rosehip oil is overwhelming
and your flooding has almost consumed me;
these words are light enough to float.
Meagan Washington is a Houston native and a current New York City transplant. She received her MFA in poetry at CUNY Hunter College and her BA from the University of Houston.