I get to thinking about
how long I have carried
certain things around
with me;
things I am not sure
I will ever unload;
things buried so deep
they are embedded
in my soul and perhaps
beyond my reach.
Is it even baggage anymore
or has it broken down
and been absorbed?
Is it in my blood
and bones?
I wonder
To the night I say:
Obliterate me.
Let this quiet brutality
save me.
I undo myself here,
at the edge of my being;
like a hovering apparition—
a dweller.
I come because the woman
in the wall is whispering again:
The longer you stay
The stronger the cage
I come for the ones
who brought me here—
the ones who came
before me.
I come with little horrors
embedded in my bones.
I come to break chains,
to part ways with
patterns and pain.
I come to sit with the
worn and wise ones, long-lost
but certain there is more.
I come here to shatter,
to free shadows,
to breathe.
Mother said to never let
passion leave without you,
but sometimes you don’t notice
until it gets away from you,
until it’s beyond the horizon,
where distance can only be
measured in misery.
I am half here, half there
half alive, half dead
by the time I notice it’s gone.
I am busy chasing ghosts
when it slips quietly out the side door.
I am teetering between
reality and dream.
I am mourning bones.
The thought of breaking free
from comfort’s pillowy embrace
doesn’t even cross my mind.
I am anchored here,
in the dark oblivion,
long past ruination.
Mother said to dwell here
long enough to make your peace,
but leave before the old pain
sings to you like a love song.
It comes back,
it always comes back.
The things
you didn’t deal with
the feelings
you didn’t sort out.
You can go
year and years
without thinking about it
and then one day
out of the blue
it taps you on the shoulder
and says,
Oh hey, remember me?
Throw back the last of memories,
drain the well dry.
Get drunk on the spirits,
weep for the wreckage,
bleed bright red nostalgia onto paper
until the last drop of hope spills out.
This is where I let the ghosts let me go.
Start at the ache where the soul is sick
it sings with grief. As we were,
is no longer, I am what remains;
a raven-haired exorcist, I owe you
no ordinary death.
This is where I pull you from my bones.
Extricate myself from this old love
that knows my name and leaves
my late-night calls buried in my throat.
Tear your hooks from my heart,
turn myself inside out.
Face the wound toward the sun.
This is where I burn you out of my soul.
Clear out every hidden compartment
that I ever had you stashed away in.
Wipe down the walls, wash every
surface clean, until nothing is you
and everything is new.
This is where I leave the grave.
I never wanted to forget your face,
but darling, you are fading.
Kristin Kory 