the silver snake

You have always shamed me. Most people have it straightforward.

Me? If my emotions are a clear river that I stand in, your blame is the quicksilver snake that glides beneath the surface, camouflaged by the sun-glitter off the water.

People whisper that to prevent the river from flooding, redirect the river, the way Hercules did.

I try, but when I dig a new pathway, something bites my ankle. Just as Esau fell to Jacob, so I fall. The water around me is stained red. Poisoned blood spreads. I drown beneath the rising water.

I am mired in pain. My mind is a landmine. Every thought is a buried explosion waiting to happen. I walk and walk and walk and there is no end in sight. Only pain and fog and pain. I cannot get out.

I am not angry. I feel gentle empathy. My arms are open, let me offer you a respite. You were driven by an impulse to good, to heaven. You wanted us to be worthy and enough. You thought that the more you whipped, the better I would become.

But I am only discovering the scars and sores and festers you have left me. I have been coughing up death after death after death. I am trying to bandage my wounds but sometimes I do not know how to heal, at all.

And I am so tired. And yet I know the salve can only come from my hand.

I am so tired. But I open my arms and unclench hands and offer you, myself, empathy, kindness and healing, again and again, however long it will take.