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Hold Tight

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It comes every
night – beginning with
my shoulders, traveling
downwards towards my
feet, relentlessly
working until each
limb is wrapped in
lethal saran– how
gentle a reminder
that my heart
is still beating.

As I put my youngest
child to bed, my arms
are reluctantly stripped
of their casing, but
the toxic web
still paralyzes my
body. My middle child
lies in his room, only
after checking twice,
can I rid my legs
of their wearing cocoon.

Now I am lying in
bed – chest pinned down
to the sheet, lungs
circulating stale
air– I am struggling
to let go. And when
I hear the garage
door open, feet
scrambling up the
stairs, sleep finally
enters to ease
love’s agonizing
hold.





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