Grain and Groove

I felt the grain of the table

The patterns in the wood

Like the ridges in my fingers

The identifying canyons

That held me in myself

As I bore the brunt

Of your yelling storm

The feeling of ridge on grain

Kept me in my body

Kept me from absorbing

The bulk of your abuse

Deep into myself

There’s too much there already

Much more and I’ll collapse

I am not as sturdy

As the table I cling to

It has stood a test of time

But holds its bruises too

The nicks and dings

Not as purposeful

As the ones you put in me