Untangled

Fingers laced together, stretched across
the knees crossed in front of my chest
(defensive posture, I have heard).
Everything is knotted.
Intestines, vocal chords,
trains of thought-
jumbled, snarled, twisted. He waits
while I comb out the tangles, us breathing
and drinking our tea. Sighs.
Finally, “I’m afraid-“
(pause, breathe, switch legs.)
“-that I will never
feel that way again.”
Momentary weightlessness, disorientation,
paralyzing apprehension. Then-
blessed relief; the abrupt alleviation of worry.
Oh, when freedom is a broken silence!
Fingers ease apart, and
my body follows.






Yup. I think in this instance, the problem was less of what I thought it was and more of how I was unwilling to really think/ talk about it.