I made the decision last night
that it was time to start packing.
I tuned the radio to a different station and
worked well into the morning.
I sanded down my shoulders,
locked the monkey in a cage,
and guided the elephant back to his rightful place
(he had followed me home from the circus—
ever so eager—
on a leash I’d constructed from hurt and pride).
I paid my dues to the ringmaster
and wept in humility.
I stripped my mattress of its filthy habits,
yanked the ego from my closet’s hangers,
and ravaged through my creative supply.
I segregated the neglected, unwashed brushes
(the “what-ifs” and the “I-can’ts”)
and tossed them in the trash
next to the pieces of ex-lover I tore from my side.
A flip of the pocket knife
and a few fine swipes to the stitches felt as pleasant as the itch that needed to be scratched.
(Healing always induces that itch.)
I desperately wanted to provide us with some sustenance along the way,
but I’ve rummaged through my cupboards only to find them bare.
I’m ashamed to say
I come empty-handed.
But if you’re willing to accept my apology
and know that I’ll do everything
I can to learn and seek out nourishment along the way,
I offer you my hand.
Author: Amber “Bambler” Keller
Image: YouTube screenshot
Editors: Nicole Cameron; Yoli Ramazzina