Ophelia

She is lucky to drown
I dip my head below water,
test the depths of my own madness
(not yet so true)
Time heals, it is said,
but how can it, when every day
the hairline crack in my heart gets a little wider
(I am splitting in two)
I have been filled and am overflowing.
She suffered, not because of unrequited love,
it was seeded deep before that.
Her father and brother, whose contradicting
sameness held together like a flood
which crept into her shell-of-an-ear
and poisoned her inwardly out.
Ophelia, you are my muse,
sitting sorrowfully on the window ledge,
sandaled feet swinging slowly, thoughtful,
toes dripping water onto my blue carpet.