“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.

 

Exhaustion attacks me;

I want so badly to crawl

back into that safe, tight space,

but my fingers keep reaching,

my heart keeps stretching,

my face craves daylight,

and my lips enjoy  the new

shapes they can make.