No Due Process (in Polyamory)

Each time you walk

Out the door

I see my mama’s back.

Each time you get ready

for a date,

I see you getting ready


To forget me.

Mama.

You who were supposed

To protect me.

Supposed to know

What he’d do.

What he did.


But you’re not my mother.

Today you get ready

To live the agreement


We negotiated,

The agreement

We consented to.


But even with all our principles

Your perfect strokes

Of eyeliner

As you prepare to depart

Are like a sharpie

Through my name,

My body, my history.

They say I’m a write off,

A shed commitment.

Penciled in

At best.

You put on that dapper jacket

You never wear

At home—evidence

That there’s something special

About this time.

About this one.

Something good, which means

Something dangerous.

Or so the heat

Demanding my attention, rising

From my gut insists.

You see, you might like them.

Which would be

Like a coffin nail.

My inner child cries:

Bad things happen

When you leave

Me. I say this

To my mother in your body.

Bad things.

We have a commitment,

A history

Of truthfulness—

Yet my hurt still

Deems it a lie.

A sentencing without

Due process.


Past Evidence, exhibit A:

For which you had

A solid alibi.

But my defense, well—

Commitment is

Snake oil.

And yet—

You come home.

And you

Love me no less.

Teaching that child

That none of it

Was true.

That trust is possible.