I stew, seethe and sorrow. I am a woman.
There is a yearning. It penetrates the wall of silenced fear.
A slow ache, amorphous yet round all at once.
I am broken. I was never really fixed.
It’s just that I feel the lack of a whole now.
No longer I bear the one way pouring.
What goes out must have a coming in.
I am sere.
My mind teases out strands of sense.
They float above my pavement feet.
It is time to be honest, let it seep in.
Some people must die and go home.
To free me.