Painting

I am painting my nails black
mourning the loss of me in the mix of you
she isn’t coming back
we hang her innocence on barbed wire
her skin blows in the wind of yesterday and tomorrow
and I cannot cloak myself in her being
pretend that she can feel like me again
and the more time that passes
I watch parts or her fly away carried by the winds of yesterday and today

and I look at my raw bones
notice they are learning to carry less weight
and how strong
for a woman to bear only that which she can take.