The soul singer, she was shot and my father cries because she looks like me and I look like my mother, although he leaves that last part out.

We drink red wine until we can’t help but talk about the way she had to crush the bones of love again and again

until they could not heal

and infection forced him to give up and let her go free.

I will choose my lovers better I will not lose myself for them to be.

I will not be my lovers’ debtor nor punish them for loving me.