the whole damn fortune
I used to think I was made
out of diplomas,
out of the right lovers,
out of all the clean little sentences
I could say at dinner parties
without spilling anything.
then you came in
like a hand around the throat of the old life…
not cruel,
just final.
9.5 months of throwing up
like the body was trying to reject
the whole idea of hope,
and I kept going anyway…
kneeling to the toilet
like it was an altar
and I was a stubborn saint
who didn’t believe in saints.
my teeth…
the backs of them…
worn down from the acid,
from the daily apocalypse
I swallowed and spit back out.
people pay for veneers,
for whitening,
for the illusion of untouched.
I’ve got proof instead.
a mouth that remembers
what it cost
to get you here.
my stomach split its neat little lie,
diastasis recti,
a seam undone
right down the middle…
and it doesn’t bother me
the way it’s supposed to.
because it’s the map.
because that gap
is where you pushed through
the old geography
and made a new country
out of me.
and these eyes…
the dark circles…
the permanent bruises
of love’s night shift.
I wake up to check on you
like the world is a thief
and I’m the dog at the door.
I lean over your breathing
and count it
like prayer beads,
like money,
like miracles.
everyone talks about “getting yourself back.”
back to what?
back to the woman
who thought she could be whole
without you?
no.
I keep these marks
the way drunks keep bottles
they swear they hate…
only I don’t hate them.
I don’t want to quit them.
I hold them up to the light
and call them what they are:
gifts.
not wrapped in silk,
not delivered with a smile,
but honest gifts,
heavy and unreturnable,
the kind that make you stand differently
in your own skin.
my degrees are paper.
my relationships were weather…
some storms,
some sun,
all passing.
but you…
you are the one thing
that stays.
you are the precious.
you are the real.
you are the reason
I don’t flinch
at the mirror anymore.
let them keep their sleek bodies,
their perfect teeth,
their uninterrupted sleep.
I have a soft belly
that once made room for a universe.
I have teeth
that tell the truth.
I have eyes
that prove I loved you
through the dark.
you define me, kid.
and I don’t mean that
like a surrender.
I mean it
like a crown
made of bruises and gold…
the only one
I’ve ever wanted.
and if the world ever tries
to measure my life
by the wrong things…
titles,
partners,
polite accomplishments…
I’ll laugh.
I’ll point to the gap in my muscles,
the worn-down enamel,
the shadows under my eyes,
and I’ll say,
that’s him.
that’s my son.
that’s the whole damn fortune.
© Sreedhari Desai