I think I’m still there, parts of me at least

lying dormant

or maybe

walled off in one of those mad, last ditch efforts to preserve the fragments

I can’t have all disappeared into the rabbit-hole of responsibility

of being the goodwife and mom.

But I’m afraid, I think, of letting these fragments out

of trying to reassemble the puzzle pieces of someone who, by all accounts

died more than a decade ago

There is so much rage to these remnants, so much fury untempered by forgiveness

this is looking at an explosion momentarily frozen, a nova that had forgotten physics

A bundle of unreasoning temper in search of a target, locked down

by rapidly rusting locks