Holding

I return again and again

To the idea of being broken

To shattered bones becoming stronger

At the healing point

To the gold

That fills the cracks

In ancient pottery

Beautifying scars

As it repairs the wounds

I come back constantly

To the ways we try and try

To replace the idea

Of being broken

Being shattered

Transform it to a virtue

To claw back some strength

With platitudes and idioms

About these things that don’t kill us

Only break us

But are we ever really broken

Or just given things to hold

I am always holding something

My breath

My tongue

My spleen

My muscles hold my bones

Try to caress and carry them

Through the pain

Through the stress of holding

My mother’s expectations

My father’s violent words

The traumas of my ancestors

All forced into my arms

Before I could even breathe

Before I knew how to protest

I swallowed all of it

Held it in my cells

The tendons tight around it all

Forging knots within my body

To tie it all together

A net of speech and sinew

Words and wondrous thoughts

Gluing me together

Holding me apart

Breaking while still bending

This psychic paradox

An ancient war

Within my body

Taken over without cause

I am always holding something

This question above all

If everything has told me

That I am stronger for the pain

That I am somehow whole

Why do I still feel broken

Why do I still hold it all