That Time We Were in Crisis
We stood in the front yard
holding hands,
squeezing each other back to life.
A trauma bond so strong,
we mistook it for love or even connection.
We couldn’t break free
not until we understood
that healing sometimes
means letting go.
We had to separate and
tend to the tender places
that crumbled at our feet.
Our gaping wounds wept
because we could not.
You cannot heal
in the place
where you first became ill.
You must leave that place.
Walk if you have to.
Crawl if you must.
Cross borders
never meant to hold you.
Carry your grandmother’s prayer cloth
across oceans
that tried to shipwreck her
and leave her for dead.
Pray you’ve got enough
of her strength
to wrench the poison from your system.
I don’t know
how she did that
how she lived
without ever truly resting.
I just know
we’re in trouble
right now and in the future.
We must leave this place while we still can.
Rupture and repair.
Break then become.
Heal in plain sight.
Name the sickness
so that we can name the cure.
