on tenderness and violence

the pile of dishes at the sink stares at me mockingly.
the emails wait impatiently to be answered.
there's a looming therapy appointment that needs to be booked,
deadlines to be chased,
strained relationships to be mended,
apologies to be told,
anxieties to be conquered,
a defaced life to be rebuilt,
a crippled self to be forgiven —
so many things that need fixing and saving and patching up and so little of me and–
you sat beside me and held my hand and suddenly,
everything quiets; even the bomb inside my head stops ticking.

i've never been much of a multi-tasker but perhaps
i can be allowed the gentleness
of your hand
while i brave the ruins
of everything i
have abandoned.

i look at our intertwined fingers.
the pile of dishes at the sink no longer feels as insurmountable.

​

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