By Eliza Griswold b. 1973 Eliza Griswold
When you said no,
             I went for your dresser,
opened the top drawer,
             broke the paper seals
on the two sterile cups,
             and wiped my dirty
thumbs inside.

             Because our stubborn love
won’t die, I have to kill it,
            will it dead. Or so
I thought until I passed
             a cycle on my own.
You’ve no idea
             what’s grown
inside me
             since I bled.

Source: Poetry (September 2013).


This poem originally appeared in the September 2013 issue of Poetry magazine

September 2013
 Eliza   Griswold


Eliza Griswold is a poet and reporter whose work has appeared in the New Yorker, the Atlantic, the New York Times Magazine, Harper's, and the New Republic. Her books include the poetry collection Wideawake Field (2007) and the non-fiction title The Tenth Parallel (2010), which examines Christianity and Islam in Asia and Africa. In 2010, Griswold won the Rome Prize from the American Academy in Rome for her poetry, and in 2011, . . .

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Poem Categorization

SUBJECT Living, Life Choices, The Body, Love, Break-ups & Vexed Love

Poetic Terms Free Verse

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Originally appeared in Poetry magazine.

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