Layered Fragments, Becoming Whole

It used to be 
my suitcase zipped
before 
any space.
Roots slipping 

“I’m great at packing”

n u m b e d   
Even if I was LOUD,
fireworks crashing hard, fast 
into shoulder blades, lanes

“Are you in or out?”

And in the evenings 
when it gets real, 
quiet. 
I can still hear 
my pride speaks
all the tangibles, packed neat-
scrubbers, filth 
down a porcelain bowl 
“It didn’t matter”
It always did. 

Now,
branches extend far 
into places of myself that bled 
punctured deep
dried, still breathe
In acceptance,
imperfection rooted.

And I’ll try all days
my little angel 
your wide gap tooth smile
the sun in two parts 
Whole 
your roots here

with wings