I’m not that girl


I’m not that girl you knew, you know.

You know I’m not that girl.

The dust of the enchanted miles

sticks in my throat, muddy,

and stifles words I might regret.

You hang on to my memory

like a rosary, marking each layer

with a reverent rub of the thumb.

Repeating

Repeating

Repeating

prayers never answered.

I’m not that girl you knew.

And I know

you’re not that boy,

that beautiful

mystical gypsy

I sharpened my teeth on

and left there on the road

one Spring.

© 2006 rhonda lee richoux

to MLH

Published by Rhonda Lee Richoux

I am retired from the public school system. I create magic wands and spells, write mediocre poetry and the occasional freelance magazine article; research local history and family genealogy; I’m an activist and keep in touch with friends, family and archenemies on Facebook, Twitter, What’s App and Word Press. I'm a Fiipina-Cajun troublemaker and trickster. I'm feeling as invincible as Keith Richards these days. Fuck is my favorite word.

2 thoughts on “I’m not that girl

  1. Okay, I don’t know exactly were I am on your site. (Notice I preface most of my remarks to you with how illiterate I am in the web world.) But I’m glad to have arrived. This poem speaks to a history I’m still trying to catch up with you on. I feel like my life since we last met has been “Cinderellad” compared to your experiences. I look forward to reading more of your stuff.

  2. This was to Michael Hanus, the Michael I was with when you and I met! He and I have been keeping in touch sporadically. Turns out he’s a very kind person as a friend. At some point, I was afraid he was only thinking of me as I was back then, and not allowing himself to know me as I am. I still count him as a loved one, though, and I will always wish him well!

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