unsaid

i say. step back world.

can't let it go unsaid.

Sonia Sanchez

as per usual since i've

been here, in this holding

space in my childhood

home, mom and i start

the day with a check-in

of sorts, strong coffee for

me and water and vitamins

for her

how are you? i ask and she

smiles, says the sciatica let

her sleep, and you?

and i want to say something

similar, minus sciatica,

i want to say all the yoga

is working and the

daily breathwork and

meditation, that the long

walks on the beach are

clearing my mind and

like a boxer about ready

to re-enter the ring,

i'm good to go, i want to

say, but can't

and since her superpower is

to decipher in glances and

silences the truth, i don't even

try

not good, i sigh, sad and

ashamed i bow my head, i tell

her about flashbacks and

nightmares and pandora's box

of secrets haunting pillows,

despite their soft silver

silkiness

all i feel is rough, all i feel

is shrill, banshees telling a

story i tried so hard to bury,

for

fifty

three

years

and did, i think i get an A+

for secrecy!

but she doesn't laugh with my

self-deprecating humor, my

vain attempt to hide the ocean

of pain

but pookie, bad is actually

good, bad means your brain

is ready to know, it means

your body is ready to feel

i tell her i hear her words but

feel unable, feel weak, i tell her

i feel raw, i tell her why can't

i be normal and walk the streets

like everyone else

because, pookie, you were

tortured

it's the first time she's

used the word, the one that

implicates her, silent bystander

of evil

and your brain and body

are tired of holding the truth

it has to come out, i whisper-cry

it has to come out, she whisper-cries

and we hold hands, tell your story

pookie, tell your story

so i try