CALL ME BELOVED

My upbringing prepared me for cuts.
I check corners for traps, watch my feet
while I’m walking. I’m waiting for the fall.
My father used to perch around corners
and leap out to frighten me, bursting out
from behind doors, ignoring my begging
to just please come out, please come out –

hard lessons. Ceilings were all riddled
with swords of Damocles, I learned quick
how terror was all theirs to manufacture,
all mine to manage. My better self left me
messages written in wounds on my skin,
keloids all cleverly conveying concerns –
antsy letters to the editor. Please advise.

I’m just trying to explain why peacefulness
feels to me like the setup to sad punchlines,
leading to jack-in-the-box pits in your gut –
I can paint murals of melancholy, of hate,
I’ve practiced in each medium of grief, but
joy leaves me lost for words. Dumbstruck
by the stark gentleness of my own hands.

You see, the other day I nicked my arm with
my fingernail – to my wonderment reflexively
I apologized – contrite and polite like I had
bumped into a stranger in a supermarket –
never had I offered myself such a stupid
and simple kindness. Never before had I
seen myself as someone worth protecting.

I can show you all my scars, stitch lines to
navigate night terrors – but what words for
uncovering love I have never known? Like
stepping out into sunlight, feeling light and a
primal warmth which my skin has never felt?
Standing at the threshold, soul crying loud
to just please come out, please come out