Silk

The smell of your home

is tangled like twine.

Strands that won’t stand alone

in my mind.

That look on your face

says I’m where I should be.

But who shall I be?

Me?

You move to a dance I can’t understand.

On my ears your sounds fall gently.

Need a codebreaker but there aren’t any at hand;

I fold inwards to keep myself near me.

The food you eat with such relish

leaves me feeling cold.

The joy has been leeched from each dish

somewhere between mouth and soul.

I wonder if you mean me good?

If you’ll stick it out, there

beyond my hood.

I don’t know you.

Don’t want to.

Don’t know where to begin.

But you know me.

Have seen me.

And seen me again.

You’ve been watching me closely

from your exile.

Seen that chasm inside me

spew bile.

What you mop up is grim.

Leaves a bad taste.

But your feet remain firm,

tightly laced.

I see you now too, the strength of your will,

scored onto open palms.

You’ve been waiting, I know that, ever still

for me to surrender my arms.

You pull yourself up when I push you away,

say you see silk where I see tatters.

Then you pull me up too, day after day.

What you do.

It matters.

It matters.