we slept close

under zippers and stars

and woke to the sound of wolves all around us.

we howled along,

before being

sung back to sleep.

the sound of wolves all around us.

the next morning

the river reminded

that fallen trees

and beaver dams

shape the path,

changing the flow.

by what falls,

you can see

what will stay,

and what will go.

we slept close,

and woke to the sound of wolves around us.

we crossed a bear in the morning,

and hiked a mountain in the afternoon.

met atop by circling hawks

so low they felt like our company.

i unlace myself from him

then the grief of having been touched

by someone that's not you

in places otherwise still branded by us

it creeps thick, like ivy

a heavy haunting

——

tangled and tethered

veins and vines

crawling up carotid arteries

search… ing

for light

for breath

——

up stone walls

and rickety old staircases

through

forgotten

closets

reaching

an attic —

where a closed window’s shutters

cast of a painful sliver of light

on an old box labeled 'us'

still up there

from before

when the only person you’ve ever loved almost takes your life away

it’s quite a lot to reckon with

—

when the fear of finding love again

makes you more nervous than the grief of living without it

it’s quite a lot to reckon with

—

when the police department you reported to

was sued by the accused

in a sexual assault case

involving your former high school English teacher

and a student

only a few years after he was your teacher

—

it’s quite a lot to reckon with

to the man who assaulted me

—

it’s been ten years.
i’ve been working steadily, deliberately,
with the quiet discipline of
all the kings horses and all the kings men just trying to put myself back together again

—

i can feel how close i am.

close enough that the last piece feels
less heavy than it does fragile.

this isn’t about rage.
or grief.
or even fear.

it’s about what happens next.

—

these days
a man can show me

nothing but green flags.
he can be kind,
attentive,
gentle with my nervous system.
he can signal safety

without spectacle,
generosity

without performance.

—

and still
the moment my heart cracks opens
the walls, enthral.

because my body remembers
what my mind has repeatedly tried to forget.

—

to trust like that again, it’s dangerous.

to the man who saved me in my boler…

—

frozen pipes

plumbing valves burst

a damsel in distress

i’ve rarely been

—

little miss independent

is generally, the cross i bare

but there i was

in an emergency

—

stuck and needing help

til you pulled up.

a tall, dark, handsome knight

in white shiny truck driving armour

about to make me weak in the knees.

—

with eyes that smile

a heart that sings

hands that pluck guitar strings

—

a blush

no doubt

upon my face

when you told me i smelled good

—

you said it cute,

with eyebrows raised

before adding,

—

“— like candy.”

for me to go this deep

to be this vulnerable

so i keep myself at arms length

from my own heart and now from him

with what i do say

nothing escapes my heart

or clears my throat

and i feel like i’m playing small

it’s insincere

it’s traumatized

it’s what justice seeks to heal

i’ve been cracked open

but now it’s closed again

and it’s happened many times

i was worried the writing was on the wall

— part seven —

so maybe next time i’ll just show him this poem

if i do, yah it might be a lot

but if i don’t, i’m allowing you

[the man who assaulted me]

to continue to rob me of my safety, joy, and happiness

i didn’t save my life to live it without love

staying in the present only works

when you’re not haunted by the past

where i’ve been

i know what my esophagus

feels like from the inside out

strangled so tight

it touches the other wall

kinked like a hose

that night in florence

you kinked my throat

just like a garden hose

all the disgust and fear and rage inside

the energy, had nowhere to go

— part eight —

because the energy of my heart space

was darkened back in the day

the space between

my heart and my throat

a space once so shrouded in fear

the space between where i smile and hide

is where i want to ask if will help me go

[yes, that’s a dave matthews band lyric sample]

this space

these chakras

the heart and the throat

they aren’t new to me

i know their names

i know their pain

i know how hard i’ve tried

to give them space and room

to feel to heal to grow

i swear i’ve tried a hundred times

there’s only so much healing that happens

on your own