PRECIOUS EJIM

The Roses Wait

Sittin’ on his doorstep

With them roses gone soft.

I hold ‘em to my chest anyway,

Like maybe dead things still listen.

Thorn pricks my thumb.

I don’t flinch.

Some hurt you don’t bother fightin’.

I click my teeth, waitin’ on a taxi,

Rockin' just a little. Dry cryin’ leaves a taste.

Some bitter, iron-like,

like I bit my tongue clean through.

My dress tore,

Not all the way,

Just enough for folks to notice

If they looked too long.

A bruise in my thinkin’

A bruise on my arm

I didn’t want to.

Swear, I didn’t.

Momma gonna smell it on me

Soon as I whisper hello.

My back’s achin’.

Low part of me burns.

Feels like somethin’s been shifted wrong,

Like a bone that won’t settle back in place.

I lean forward,

Head in my palms,

Try to catch my breath

It done run off, without me.

 Dying would be simpler.

No sortin’ through what was mine,

No wonderin' why,

He didn't listen to my decline.

Mistuh loved me i swear.

At least that's what he vowed

Before the bottle took the lead.

There’s the devil inside.

Petals hit the cement,

one by one.

I leave the flowers where they lay.

Stand up slow.

Wipe my face.

I limp the last few steps,

Careful not to fall.

Precious Ejim is from Boston, Massachusetts. She writes confessional poetry that explores womanhood, longing, and emotional vulnerability in contemporary life. Her work deals with intimacy, interiority, and the emotional textures of being young and female. Her influences include Audre Lorde and Sylvia Plath, whose work has shaped the way she thinks about voice, honesty, and emotional precision.

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