Today, in the shower,
nursing my migraine,
as the hot water hit my neck,
I began weeping.
Weeping.
Years ago, after 3 accidents in 2 months,
I was getting a message and,
as the masseuse broke up the fascia,
I began weeping,
my body wracked with sobs
as she pressed out pockets of flesh
where I had stored fear.
Now, I sit in the dark
and close my eyes.
Lean my head back
and strain to hear your voice.
It has become so small.
