The glass and the tool to soften it both start as sand

I can’t quite identify all that I gained with him

but I do know that he took my spine as I left–

let me wilt for a while

until I found a way to reconstruct it 

from shattered bottles and memory, 

vertebrae of sharp edges

that kept tearing at the skin

of anyone who dared lay their hand

in the small of my back.

It’s funny how our bodies fight 

even the kindest

in the name of self-mercy.

 

Tonight, when I enter my room

and find abundance in my own arms

I will still wonder 

at the attainability of softness.

I have the tools

but cannot reach 

that one spot on my back.

I will wait. 

For someone to turn their hands 

to sandpaper and damp cloths.

For someone willing to 

hold me until the shards are gone.