23 May 2022

There Is The Kind of Love That Disarms Us

I have grown too accustomed to this

armory of words — as if the dark forest

of language could save me,

could save anything.

I thought I could untangle the ravines,

shine light on the undergrowth, discover

new species. Forgive this arrogance —

but like every other human,

I am always dying, I am a gambler

who is dealt a specific hand.

*

Then there is the kind of love that disarms us —

strips us bare of pretense and protection.

With you, I could never find my words.

I said I’m sorry when I meant I love you

but I don’t know if I have the right.

I said I can’t do this when I meant

How can something fall apart

when it hasn’t even begun?

And the most unforgiving —

I said nothing when I meant

You are as precious as the sea.

Now all I have is this collection

of riddles and silences — traveling

back to the forest’s depth.

The wayward daughter,

not knowing where to bury her loss,

not knowing how to celebrate her

homecoming.