Third Choice

At twenty-four, I fell in love.

I did fall

           far and fast

from naivety to a place where

I did not recognize my own name.                

 

He said, “We should start our own life,

not live near family or friends.”

 

The first time he shoved me,

I tumbled headlong down a well.  

It took another twenty-four years to climb out.

I hurtled into depths like a

rescuer dives into frigid water,

throwing off shoes and jacket.

 

I threw off my innocence,

then my dignity, ducking flying 

beer mugs and smashed chair parts. 

 

A fist-shaped hole in the wall 

covered with a full-length mirror, 

the one in which I could no longer see 

my reflection.

 

His promises became the air I gulped before

I sank beneath the surface again and again.

Between incidents 

were flowers, apologies, forgetfulness, denial

 

repetition

 

until all that was left were icy feelings—

scared, stupid, not good enough, 

wrong, undeserving.

 

In the echo of the well, I could 

only hear the lie. I am BAD.

The walls were slick with shame

If only I said things right, 

if only I wasn’t so… then maybe…

 

I tried what felt like everything:

cajoling, apologizing, fawning, 

even meeting him rage to rage. 

Finally, I fell silent.

 

My fierce women helped me 

salve my shattered soul,

choose my dreams over his, turn the 

straw of struggle and muddied esteem 

into bricks of confidence and courage

with which I built my stairway out.

 

Eventually, my leaving took divine 

intervention, a loud audible voice 

in my inner ear,

“It is time to leave NOW.”

 

I did.

I reclaimed my innocence by 

capping off the well and forgiving

my inner 24-year-old for staying.

 

I listen now, not just to

the wisdom of my heart or the

voice of experience, but to

all my inner selves who step by step

 

generated a third choice—

a self that knows my name

shows me my face and

won’t let me fall.