Tender Touch

Alone in the house, watching the snow drift silently from melancholy skies. Knitting, shuffling the Tarot, baking pies. Anything to avoid listening to the voice inside. The small, livid, shaking girl. Suffocated screams swallowed nice and deep. Trying not to remember how his eyes grew wide, the hand smashing into the radio. Over and over and over and over. The car doors locked, speeding down the highway, no escape. I’d be driven to and from work, nothing in between. I lived beside the airport, but every plane that flew away was missing me. Just one seat, it doesn’t matter where I’m going, take me.

Sometimes I’d imagine a little magic elf knocking on the door. Holding open his palm, “I can take you anywhere. Far away from this place, everything will be okay.” And that’s when it dawned on me, if I had the opportunity, I’d run and never look back. I’d leave the crooked streets of St.John’s in a heart beat. A matter of allowance. I just needed it from me. To do it all over again. To let go, to let be. You can’t run very far when you’ve got a weight to carry. So I told him take the bed, the art, the TV. Take all the books, my money, my sanity. But please, don’t take the light that shone inside of me.

Drifting heart deep in cold, murky currents. Hands cupped protectively over the spark that got me here. I can navigate this on my own. All the stories, they can sink or float. But to let go of the light, just for a distant memory, I won’t. Smirking at the idea, permission was something I never thought I would need. But I did, I needed it from me. It’s okay to leave. To start from scratch again and again until I find the perfect recipe. The right combination of desire, of love and a willingness to grasp reality just as it’s being.



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