Shining

My body holds the memory
of his hands in the night
like a survivor recounts
a plane crash years later;
how they wake up
sometimes
still falling – soaked in sweat
– dropped back down onto
the mattress gently.

This has been a secret I kept,
and then didn’t,
and found the two were no different.
The tension in my shoulders;
the bruise of my back,
like spilled ink settling –
I take it everywhere
– in my smile,
in my laugh.

When the engine goes,
or fatigue cracks my wings,
I rise from the rubble
unsurprised at my
indestructibility.
I have fallen so many times
– been dropped back down
onto the mattress gently –
have learned to carry this
dead spot like a diamond:
Shining still.
Shining brightly.

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