Inspired by Sue Olsen’s December Sky
you look at me like i’m a monster,
but i swear i’m just confused, and my behavior is just
as anger or retaliation.
this winter wind unravels our skin,
spinning, like a cat with a ball of yarn
or planets peeling themselves, blooming,
layers of muscles, clay, bones, and earth
drifting into oblivion,
a sea of fire feeding into the stars.
i was selfish.
i was late to pick you up from work
two days in a row,
and though i know it makes you feel unloved,
a small part of me felt like i had no control over the outcome.
but i also know i did have some control.
i could have chosen differently.
forgive me, fire, i know you don’t do well on neptune.
forgive me, star, ice moons don’t survive your swelling storms.
forgive my unexpected unravelling,
for my comatose staring
as if the lack of love for myself came as a surprise.
not sure if it’s the solstice, the medicine, or your eyes,
but i love you more than i’ve ever loved before.
thank you for keeping me warm,
thanks for lighting the ember night after night,
stitching the soul when my brain unravels.