Blankets and Bedsprings

Thread Count

You wove for me a tapestry
three decades in the making
painting a striking picture
more complex than I could have ever imagined.

My own undoing begins
when I pick apart those threads.

It takes a village to hold me back from my self.

I stand back, then,
to let the truth wash over me
like ocean water - freezing and saline:
painting my lips blue
piercing my lungs until
all breath is taken from me.

I can never be washed completely clean, still
wrap your tapestry over my naked body
                                               as I come
                                               of age and wisdom borne
                                               by our great unravelling.