There’s a Freedom in Letting Go

I envy your articulated sadness.

All i know how to speak

anymore

is light.

a defense.

A child in a room

watching

her mother scream to God

the girl invisible

lost in the waves

of pain

she couldn't see.

a witness.

And here you are

your sea green eyes

freely swimming in the depths

your hands flowing out

over strings

bleeding into the music

such

tortured beauty

but beauty still.

My hand reaches out to you

a painting I'm afraid to touch

in the museum

my life has become.

I stand a crumbling column

observer, sentinel

with a painters eye

and a fearful heart.

a witness.

You, though, refuse it

and for the first time

the very first time

I am seen.

Your brown-flecked eyes

gently stare into my soul

imploring me to just exist

to let someone else

bear witness for once.

Your fingers caress my neck

reminding me

I am a woman

all softness

and flesh

and love.