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Cure for Regret, by Gabriela Amada

He’s slowly curing me

of the regret

I’ve been swimming in.

The regret of

breaking a heart

so determined to love me.


A day at the beach,

but in the midst

of a hurricane.

He is the undertow

that catches me

three steps

before the shoreline.


I am shredded by the coral.

Ankles over shoulders,

minus the pleasure.

Begging and bleeding

for the decency

to let me have

the solitary smiles

that don’t just appear

without effort.


It is a constant manipulation

of the mind.

Perpetual bargaining moments

with my Heavenly Father.

I’ll take what you’ll allow me to,

I promise Him.


When the peace of His promise

washes over me

so does the undertow.

Angry for every resolution

that doesn’t include him.


The pain is a cure

I would rather

live without.

It is also washing away

the fondness.

The friendship.

The love.

When you love someone

their happiness is

more important than

the pain of acceptance.


Time and again I remind him

That I am not responsible

for his happiness.

Time and again I remind him

I never was.


But still I am

shredded and embedded.

The coral apologetically

cutting into scabs,

and in the aftermath I

bathe myself in lavender salts

while a balm of Coltrane

and Miles Davis

plays in the ethereal glow

of my Bluetooth speaker.

Patty Griffin and Norah Jones.

Karin Allyson and Billie Holliday.


The tears are a slow trickle

in the recharge.

Every day I am

A little stronger.

My skin thickening

to leather.

Tomorrow I will be ready

For another round.


One day the undertow

will only be a tickle.

One day I’ll make it

to the shore and

bask in the warmth

of a future I fought for

with every cell in my body,

and I will be triumphant.



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