There is a monkey on my shoulder,
A millstone round my neck,
and an albatross draped on my chest,
Oppressing me.
Much as I try to inhale,
Fill my lungs with oxygen,
A spot lies inactive and inert,
Where the alveoli refuse to inflate.
The heft of memory undealt with,
Unexplored and unexpressed,
Left to fester mutely,
Has taken up permanent residency
In the countries of fascia, bone and organ
Infecting my body with a vengeance.
But I will not despair.
For the One who breathed life into me
Can make of my being a new creation
If I let Him infuse my whole spirit, soul and body,
Making sense of my past, present, even future.
As I remember, acknowledge and feel,
I can then accept, mourn, to finally let go.
So with hope I wait on His touch.
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