(A cop out. And nod to all the times you said “I don’t know” when I asked you what was wrong.)
The fact of the matter she said. Like facts matter. You can say Please do the dishes but what I hear is The labor you perform is insufficient/You are insufficient/You are too much not enough. She wrapped hands too small for their great strength around the barrel of a needle, made incisions in the cloth left behind at crime scenes, looked deep at the source of hurt so she could turn her back on her own. The fact of the matter hung between. A long forgotten murmurance. A shadow highlighting obstruction. Say things too often and they lose their meaning. The fact of the matter. The matter. The fact. The matter of fact. The matter of fact way she dissected us. Laid the body on a metal slab. Went through the motions. Fingers sure and palms unsweaty as they ran over the upset messy tangle of organs and infected tissue. Say things too often and they lose their meaning. Or take on new ones. Like I love you. Like please do the dishes. Like forever. Like goodbye.
the ides make me think of what i would do to your heart or your back if exposed to me in a square before all of your followers
march marches, each one new and strange the mingling of spring and winter weather not unlike the twisting of your temperament
each march is different and, in this one, i find myself devoid of you, fantasizing about all the things i never said that were too painful for you to hear. me, your grand protector valiantly succumbing to the ground beneath your boots
in my dreams, i picture my dagger in your back retribution for the impact of your fist on my skin and the delicate intersection of scars left by your words laced and interlocked against the softness of my belly
I spent my day today surrounded everyone around me ebbing and flowing and me, a jetty, stoic and unmoved.
That’s how it is for me, PTSD pushes me from one extreme to the other so emotional I cannot be touched then so far removed nothing can touch me.
Today I let the salt run down me and I stood in the midst of it eyes dry and heart still trying to find a way to reach out from the haze surrounding me to touch each and every one of you.
All I want to do is enfold you take each trembling drop of you and press you into stillness in each of my cracks and crevices build a home within where you can rest your weary bones.
You have been breaking for so long I don’t remember a time when I didn’t hear you, didn’t register your cries in the night, cold fingers of your hands grasping at me only to slide back into the sea and recommence your crashing melody.
Today I spent my day surrounded wanting to reach out, to do more but unable to shake myself from my foundation.
All I can do at times like these is stand. And hope my stillness gives you something you can safely break against.