A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

I’m claiming them all back, you know.

You broke me into pieces and I had no choice
but to make you leave me, as your poison seeped
through cracks, tarnished shining memories.
I struggled to hold that anything could have been 
both beautiful and destructive at the same time.
(naive, I know - have you ever seen fire?)

And the bitterest herb was the discord you sowed
in my soundtrack. You know how melodies
and bass lines are bardic cantrips painting 
landscapes in my mind, playing back moments
like old home videos. Sometimes they struck fast;
sharp pain catching breath. Sometimes 
they were water brash, nasty aftertaste,

I’d been charmed (I suppose I’ll have to forgive
her for failing that wisdom save - luck of the dice
after all) but the enchantment has worn off, and I 
can have once again my favourite songs, and they
are not yours, not ours, merely mine.  And tonight, 
tonight the enchantment is so distant that the track
was almost over before I saw in my hands 
the simple bouquet of indigo irises and white roses
(oh the irony of meanings - you never did respect
my innocence, but we’ve established you speak
not the language of flowers).

And as I am no longer enchanted, nor does my river
flow anymore in you - you who could not contain it - 
avulsion of my current is healing for this landscape, 
and it matters not if the water once touched
your skin - any claim you ever had on my heart
is homeopathic, so diluted in the ebb and flow
that it no longer dominates my memories. 

I can make new memories, you know.