She turns with an open wrist 
to the faucet’s hot stream,
and the harder she tries
to heat her blood
the further she slips away.
She fears these nights
without any affection
confirm she’s been turned down. 
The longer she lingers
her fears play in her mind.
In this dreamed perfection
she’s afraid to close her eyes.
Everything was triggered
perceived by rejection
she hated denial’s words.
She swore she’d never want
or ever depend
on another again.
Yet, here she finds herself
lost in a flooded sink.
She stares straight ahead
into her bathroom mirror
her fogged silhouette
is hard to discern.
She whispers softly to herself,
her submission was never truly given.
Here as she stood in front of the sink
it was time to choose again.
Her delicate wrists
and the faucet’s hot water
or a chance in a new relationship.
Across her vanity
layers of tiny bottles
are filled with truth serums
cluttering her shelves.
Her hands are far from soiled
she’s been clean for years.
Whispering her chanted prayers
she holds firm to the counter.
The floor having been already swept
all the sharp edges cleared.
She waits, in her proper position.
The counting hours have begun,
her stolen charms, 
have all been but collected.
Having made her decision,
the new relationship,
she offers her wrists
as the reward.

3 thoughts on “Rejection’s Hand

  1. Wanda- very well said. There in lies the interpretive beauty of poetry. I wanted to make a connection between her wrist and hot water as a means to contemplate suicide. She was rejected by her lover, denied affection, and therefore blames herself. Ultimately though, towards the end of the poem, she has to make a choice—-she triumphs! She chooses to love again.

    Thank you for reading. I swore by creating this I’d inject poetry into all our lives. 😍🤪

    Like

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