head swimming I remember that I chose
a hopeful fear of lowered shields
a skittish doe, bearing wounds, assumed
to invite your ridicule and the pain of your gaze
a bruised and confused moment of vulnerability
it was my choice to let you in, my voice repeats
and now that I have called you friend,
opened space at the plow, passed the notched knife
you get to choose whether you will indeed be
a friend to me, one who shares the yoke
who takes my tears and paints them on your face
and gifts me painful exposure of your own
as we smart from taking off our masks
we slowly smile as we see faces glisten
it is so long since we saw another
being all unbared, in truth from truth
and we start to laugh
at nothing at all
T. M. Suffield
Photo by Erik Mclean on Unsplash
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