The Divided Self – a poem
I pinch back the mint.
it’s like swallowing tears
or biting a too easily spoken harshness
from the lip.
Somehow, the mint comes back stronger.
The new stems that come out
are divided: two branches
instead of one.
it’s like those tears
in the swollen throat:
you’ve held back from pouring them,
so not only do you still have them,
you develop a new reflex,
a new branch of expression.
Sometimes you find yourself
with a bloody lip,
but it’s better than hearing the old tapes in your mind
playing yourself to yourself
over and over
knowing you can’t erase it.

So I continue to pinch the mint,
year after year,
the top two leaves,
and the square stems branch out,
twins
like the divided self
one side speaking
one side listening
nodding in agreement
while the wind
reminds the stem
that it’s roots, like the heart,
are most of it’s body anyway.
© Doreen Shababy