Time of Necessity

by Suzanne Highland

Piece by piece
I kick off the years’ grief:
first as a pupil

of longing, studying the veil
and tendrils, the white membrane
parting

from the cleft you left
trying to access me—
then I loose myself

and go out too:
limb
 
by spent limb,
an indignity flourishing
and concealing me like a weed.
 
My indignity: you were always
the blade
 
turning in
its dull case, eager
to stay secret.
 
I sought its edge
then and now,
and now and then
 
I still do: there’s a fidelity
to pain, the way
I find myself

standing in my kitchen
and only after sitting back down
recall what I went there for.

This is how I’ve survived you
until now. Your crack widens,
 
allows what you thought
was impossible,
 
and I look up and out of it.