Don't worry, he said.
It hasn't disturbed us yet.
And he patted me on the head.
As if we were sleeping,
and my pain was just a loud sound
outside the light of our bed
something unwanted trying to get in,
that hadn't yet.
As if it were not in the room with us.
Not to worry,
because
worrying is useless in times like these.
In situations such as this.
Where the past holds fast
to the throat of a new beginning
and pulls down hard, almost winning
the battle.
Not so soft we land on the bed,
writhing and roiling for control
until I wake...
Seething, grieving, and beyond you.
Tear-laden, whiskey-bound
making my way past this place you found
but couldn't enter.