edges
am I enough
to carry our monsters from
the pillow to the burn pile where
there’s a stump by the red barn that
was used to butcher chickens but
we don’t do that anymore because you
started cutting yourself below the knee with
a thin blade from a broken pencil sharpener and
it looked like a rake of slow paper cuts when
you lifted your pant leg at the clinic while
the doctor spoke like a metronome about
gathering things with sharp edges into a safe
place until it felt like a screaming teakettle left
too long on the stove and I
kept asking the invisible if I
am strong enough to be the bear skin you need me to be
am I thick enough to hold it all together and
wrap myself fully around our hungry fears as
the long grey face of winter pushes
against the windows when
you know
that I know
that we know
why there’s a pause between
saying “I love you sweetheart” and “goodnight” now
leaving our bedroom doors open just a bit to
let a handful of light from the hallway plunge
into our shadows connecting
my bed to
yours
​
​
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