in defense of losing it

If I hadn't broken down,
hadn't broken open,
if I hadn't cried,
let the failure and
frustration spill over
where he could see it
(which has always
felt to me
like more failure),
he might not have
risked crawling
out of bed,
wrapping his arms
around my waist,
resting his head on
my belly and saying
he loved me --
might have missed
that thin place
where we do the
real work of being
human together
in God's hands.

thread

None of us knows,
nor chose,
the width,
weight,
strength of thread
that binds our shadow-self,
the string
that ties us inside in.
Some strands stretch
taut over time, strain,
fray to a fiber,
snap.
Others are
cut,
clean sheared
in a fell swoop,
smooth one second
and split the next.
We may spill safely
in small,
manageable portions,
easily reassembled
and wrapped in place,
or we may
watch our every secret slip
slick through our
fingers holding hard
the severed cord.
And you -
do you loosen
or bind?
Am I working against
you when I rush
to pick up my scattered
pieces and tie them
back together?
Scatter me then,
or hold me fast,
free me to
you
either way.

the broken next door

The veil is fragile
the stories are true
the world is broken and
breaking all over again
under our noses.
I can't hold this truth
she told me
it has buried her alive
and I dove in after.
How do we dig out together
when we are down so deep?
The old heavy rocks
press into my back
and my eyes sting but
I meet her gaze.
But for the grace of God...