poem: lena reich

recovery

I didn’t know
that my body had been stolen
didn’t even occur that it could be stolen
at this time, at this age
it’s the naïveté of a person in their twenties
that made that halt so much more shocking.

Each molecule tinged with doubt
each vein inch by inch contaminated
each fiber dyed an uneasy dark grey.

No, it’s not the end of the world
not an end of a life
but yes, an end of a life that I knew,
and the beginning of a new life,
a life living under a new shadow,
like smelling a bushfire faintly in the distance.
It took this to see that the path was never solid or golden
it’s missing some stones, some muddy spots can take your boot clean off
but of course this has always been the truth.

I’ve divided myself in halves
into a before and after
into a then and now
into a what was and what is.
My half faces my other half
and they push against each other so hard
palm to palm
forehead to forehead
two Siamese twins united only by an opposing force
of resistance, they will not accept each other.

**

But what’s stolen
can be stolen back
not all at once
but bit by bit.

It’s a constant pulling back and forth,
a tug-of-war,
tugging on the threads of wellbeing.
I pull in my knots close to me and hold the tangles up to my face
(they are rough but tender, fragile but resolute)
like a mother rubbing her cheek on her child.

The shreds of dignity are
pasted back on the glass
like paper maché
to form a fragile but gentler being.

And who wins in the end?
There is no winning or losing
It’s not a game, not a match, not a competition
The victory comes when I can look you in the eye
(I see myself reflected there)
and shake hands
and move onward.

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about the writer: lena reich

Lena Reich is a full-time dreamer, occasional writer. She has many homes but the two closest to her heart are in Kentucky and central Japan.