Arm’s Length
The embrace that waits
Friend,
if these, my arms
were allowed to go outside
to touch another person
I would lead them to you
I would use them to pull you in, and
I would hold you so tightly
that I’d reach the small version of you
the one I didn’t know
the one that has died
but sometimes calls your name
when you’re lost
I know this voice
because I have one, too
she speaks to me from a grave marked with
teenage wishes and violated dreams
not to haunt me
but to remind me I’ve grown strong
Friend,
you say we are but once-planted seeds
but now what have we grown into?
a mighty oak?
a cactus with threatening spines?
no, I’d like to think I am a weeping willow
with leaf green eyes turned toward the sun
hardened bark skin that shields each nascent ring within me
and most of all, long branches that hang open, in wait
to give of myself to those who need
to hold you and tell you we are going to be all right
even if it takes a few times
before either of us feel it
Friend,
I shall wrap you in tendrils and branches
as soon as these arms of mine
are allowed to go outside
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