Mirror Spell

I left him in a lurch,
in a shaft with long metal ladders.
I reached out my hand.
He wouldn’t take it.
If I had gone down any further I would have lost the way out.

So I forced myself back,
screaming at him the whole time,
pulling with my own weak arms,
rising to open air despite myself.


He lives. I know.

His troubles and betrayals,
not mine

and me,
not his guide.

I lay my tools down.

I can feel.
I can feel.
I can feel.

I can feel something besides pain.

The cool compress that stretches towards me through my stupification.
The deep infusion, hot bath, wrapped blankets,
resonate lightly
on the edges of moments where safety is forgotten,

assuage raw emptiness
of the outside.

Each day, the clash greets me
hits of remembrance despirit my sacred.
Each day I break surface
see green, keep more

to pull me back
when I lose my footing .

I’m on the mend, mama.
It is so sad.
I’m on the mend.

- Tasara

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