Compartments
An independent woman
Does not easily integrate
The pieces of her life in compartments
Borne of necessity
Her children, once her reason for existing,
Their compartment: ‘Unconditional Love’
Her career, her fuel, her distraction, her success
Its’ compartment: ‘Accomplishment’
Her house (has she ever had a home?)
A nesting in progress, a need, home
Its compartment: ‘Shelter’
Your time, a precious commodity
Her selfish need
Its compartment: ‘Warmth’
Your love
Your… love?
She pushes it aside, the discomfort alarms her
As she anxiously shuffles compartments
The click-click of the key in the tumbler
Her heart, the resistant receptacle
Debris from the past
Taking up space
Where you belong
She sweeps at the remains in one frustrated motion
The pain blows back, like ashes in the wind
Persistent reminders
Vestiges of memory, she gathers
Placing them in a separate box
Labeled ‘The Past’
She will visit it only as needed
To clean the compartment, bit by bit
Ridding herself of the damaging debris
The useless drudgery of their failures
Abuse, heartache
Will not co-exist with love
Nor will she allow the damage to permeate
Only one key allows entry
The cylindrical lock aligned
Allowing rotation
Swinging inward, open
This compartment ‘Her Heart’
Most fragile of them all
With shaking fingers
She gives it to you.
It took my breath away!
Oh goodness, thank you.