One Thirty-Nine

It takes more than four walls

to hold my soul;

I need an open window

but also a lock.

This delicate dance of freedom and safety—

and you hold both.

But how many times have I threatened

to pack my bags and leave?

Not in hatred

but in fear,

after all the shattered fragments

of my deepest illusions

were left scattered,

finally,

at my feet.

I worked so hard to sweep them out the door, with haste and shame in the curl of my hands—

but you wouldn’t let me.

Where can I flee from your presence?

Instead

you gathered every broken bit of glass;

pressed them close to your heart;

And wept.

If I make my bed in the depths, you are there.

You shatter my low expectations

instead of my heart.

Your hands hold the truth of who I am.

Freedom and safety follow me, wherever I go.

You are my walls,

my window,

my lock.

And I’ll spend my days spreading thin these desperate fingers,

tilting my life towards the edge of your frame,

reaching for home.

—One Thirty-Nine, an original poem