DRAMATIC MONOLOGUE Poem: What we were, by Flora Woodscolt Cross

We met in heat,
The kind only Haiti knows.
Heavy air,
Light touches,
A man who said I love you
Before I could decide if I believed him.
I waited.
He waited.
We slept next to each other,
Naked but untouched.
Somehow, that was the closest I ever felt to him.

We moved in.
A dog followed.
We made a life of
Mango trees and miscommunication.

He wanted a woman who
Gave orders to staff,
But I was raised
Washing my own plate.
I stumbled with the household
But loved him hard.

We made children.
Two boys born at home
In our love island.
One after another,
Like prayers that landed
Little feet.
Our love represented in them.

Then came Florida,
Poison in my babies,
Not knowing from where.
Stress that outgrew us.
Bills, nights with no sleep.
Another baby born at home.
This time in America.
No midwife could catch
What was unraveling between us.
The man who once whispered
You are mine and I love you
Spits in my direction now,
Calls me names I don’t recognize.

The man I thought would never hurt me.
You don’t destroy the ones you love.
His rage, his hate,
A fire I didn’t start
But still burn from.
I tried to douse it
With patience,
With apologies,
With silence.

But silence did not save me.
It only taught me how to
Disappear without leaving
The room.

I miss the man who
Held my door open,
Who held my hand while driving,
Touched my growing belly,
Ran his fingers through my hair.

I miss the man
Who made me feel chosen
Without needing to be perfect.
Who made plans with me.
Not just for a day, but for a life.
A garden.
A family.
A home.

Now I live in the ruins
Of what we dreamed,
Tiptoeing around broken pieces,
Because the sharpest ones
Are made out of words.

And still, after everything,
After the silence,
The shouting,
The ache that settles between us,
I want to find our way back.

Not as strangers,
Sharing blame.
Not as roommates
Passing off the children like
Time cards.
But as we once were.

Lovers.
Best friends.
A team built on touch and trust.

I want to return to the version of us
Who held hands with hope,
Made love quietly
Under mosquito nets,
And believed that softness
Could last forever.

I don’t want what we’ve become.
I want who we were
Before pain pulled us apart.

I want whole.
Not perfect.
Just whole together.