For Lisa
No one understands my trauma
like you do, the way it carves
an immeasurable piece of flesh
from places well hidden.
It is the perfect murderer, charming
and quick.
The silence in our friendship
speaks volumes to the fact
we know how little fixing
each other fills us. It’s the
need to exist in the company
of another.
This is the true art of letting go
from the years of abuse
disguised as self-sabotage.
It is the walk in the woods,
our labored breaths mixing
with pine and the sound of creeks
run dry.
