The Last Laugh

When someone goes to break me now,
that spot that always crumbled and convinced itself
it was somehow above pain, that weak place,
has fused with all of the other broken spots
to thicken itself with power that only comes from a soul break.
When it mended it carried with it endless beauty.
The cardinal my daughter saw as a baby, her eyes alive with wonder.
A red scribbled drawing left on my pillow by my son to keep me safe.
Whiskers of the first dog I ever loved. His old blue collar faded by the sun.
My yellow bicycle I rode as a girl when everything was green.
The leaves I would sleep under illuminated by the sun.
The Oak acorns broken beneath my sandaled feet,
the soft smell of them all dry and mixed with afternoon rain.
Cold black earth dug as a tunnel back to summertime.
My pregnant belly round with two babies inside it.
The first sight of their tiny faces, their bodies filled with life.
The smell of spaghetti cooking in a beach house in Florida,
my dearest friend laughing over my shoulder
her face as open as any love I have found.
The dark green door of my Paris apartment, the knob icy
in my palm as I pushed it open to find myself waiting inside,
paintbrush in hand, the window letting in the sounds of the city.
My first kiss lying under a piano, the kindness he showed me.
Kisses from mouths that came in peace and pushed love
into my soul. Those soft wet kisses and dry hands
that reached for mine when my heart was free and young
and unaware that it would one day be hunted down
by another heart that could not feel and could not love on its own.
The last laugh was to be his when he broke me for good.
But the most beautiful truth of all, the little nugget
that saves every single human soul it comes across
is that hate is no match for love.
For love is the ultimate badass.