somehow it’s gonna come out

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

There Is Never A Card For This

I have felt this way before,

sort of numb

with a rising rage that cannot be ignored

the exit path I look back at now

didn’t look so obvious at the time

 

there are times that schism, that

crack us apart in ways

that make the beginning of the universe

pale, and tremble

 

darkness holds no candle

to the bleakness of a soul

the wildness of cataclysm begins

to look like the center of control

 

I cannot hold the lantern up

to light your path,

this road

is not the same as mine

 

though

I’d give much to give you hope

 

the journey is the destination; at some point

you look back at the winding loops

of your trail

and marvel