Arriving

I don’t know if I’m removed enough
or ever will be
to share
precisely how I got here today.

I sit in disbelief
remembering suddenly where I am
exactly eight months to the day
when my life became a rug
ripped out violently from underneath me.

Like the trick
where a tablecloth is yanked out
from underneath plates and cups
nothing shifting.

But it’s not a trick, is it?

It takes skill and practice
to master the art.
It takes planning.

A planned attack
on my senses
my soul
my entire being.

Every day forward was an impossibility
falling to my knees
scraping by
sleepless and
hopeless.

I was an imposter
showing up
hoping no one would notice
I was decaying.

I would see her in visions.
It was me
and she was OK.
I let her guide me
motivate me
to inch forward
until suddenly
I wasn’t so shattered anymore.

I came face to face with the version of me
who was waiting for
me
just to keep trying
and trying
to arrive.