Scared passage.
Painful night.
The trees—they knew,
what was coming.
They whistled in the dark.
The next day, on the lift,
Internally I asked:
Should I leave,
or should I stay?
I promised myself:
On the next run,
I would get away.
But before I could—
the Achilles tore.
My vulnerability
in full soar.
The icy patch
broke me
like a bullet.
It reminded me.
The one who violated me
can’t stand there and laugh,
trying to pull me
off my path.
Skiing angels saved me.
With help from nurse Emily.
Now I surrender to pain,
renewing my life
with sacred lavender rain.
During this time
the young one appeared,
needing protection.
Assurance that no one crosses
our line.
The threshold now defined.
It’s taken
a long,
long time
for her
to trust me—
to accept me
as the nurturer.
But I asked her what she needed,
so together, we returned
to my childhood home
and escaped the locked room.
We threw all the books
on the ground.
With crayons,
we destroyed
the walls.
We took our pistols
and shot the angry goblins.
Then we blew up
the house
with a bomb.
There we laid peacefully
amongst the ruins,
soaking in
the stars.
She hugged me close,
and whispered—
“Now I trust you.
You can be my mother.”
And gently, she asked
to drink
from my breast,
from the heart
that was finally hers.