Honeysuckle

There are consequences
for shutting down,
for closing off.
The moment you open up again,
fractionally,
to acknowledge your loneliness,
to give yourself permission to let in someone new,
to love again . . .
That's the moment
your past confronts you,
cascades over you
in icy, whitecapped rapids,
And you don't even know
you can't
stop
the incessant
pummeling
resurfacing
reshaping
of your mossy, roughened edges.

Now I've found you,
allowed you one step forward,
turned you around,
sent you away,
pulled you back in curious,
tentative,
desirous,
defiant,
untrustable gestures that belied my turmoil.
Yet more and more
I want to open up to you
like honeysuckle.
Orange, vibrant, pliable.
Thriving from my honeybee's attentions,
cocooned in each new morning's warmth.

I see the lies I told myself,
the fires I smothered
that I should have walked through,
emerging singed and sooted, raw and achy,
regenerating from the inside out
like the chrysalis.
But there's no going back.
So forgive me,
one more moment
to finish letting go,
saying goodbye,
releasing blame,
before I come to you
ready
for your sweetness.
.

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