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.