April 1st

You share you haven’t 
written
in two months.

I’m startled at the idea
that you’ve not reflected
or inspired
a note
a poem
or paragraph
while I’ve written about you
most days.

I’ve written about you
since the night
I thought
you were something other
than who you turned
out to be.

Reflection

She says to me,

“You get to figure this all out. 
What a beautiful
challenge to overcome.”

She suggests I look
not to the trauma
or the pain
but the fear.
Fear of being left.
Fear of being seen. 

“You look through lenses
scratched and clouded.
You feel through fear.
Until you know your ground,
until you know
what you want
and expect nothing less,
you’ll continue to question.
You’ll continue to feel doubt.”

I look to her
tears decades old
decorate my face. 

“So what now?”

She looks at me with
a knowing smile.

“You already know.”