To Let Go

We take it in turns to be your saviours-
paper between our palms like blessings.
My body cuts off the distance between us,
I am dissolved of my duty over an oak table;
hands clasping ice cold glass as therapy.
The burn bursts open my hand;
a blooming of lilac veins rise to the surface.

I squint and wriggle my awkward body
between bars of sunlight flash-framing tan.
I’ve practised before the mirror,
my foggy breath opens out ;
a series of Russian dolls holding memories,
gently between their palms as offerings.

But today nothing is needed but strength,
so I fight to contain the feelings beneath flesh.
The sudden heaviness of my arms,
the way the blood feels like it is travelling backwards.
Like my entire body is translucent and they will see,
etched like ancient artefacts- my martyrdom.