“Learning to love differently is hard…”
—Marge Piercy, “To Have Without Holding”
My hands crack and creak
as these fists open, stiff fingers
reaching, trying to remember
how to touch, how to feel.
My heart cramps and catches
as I try unfurling it to reveal
everything it’s been writing, things
it thought nobody wanted to read.
My skin, pale and pasty, grabs
at the mask I try to peel
from the face finally curious
about sunshine again.
My lips, so accustomed
to reciting only certain phrases
struggle to release the wild words
gnawing through their cages.