Is this tomorrow
or am I still on
today’s treadmill?
I’m beginning to wonder
where I fit in other than
on trauma’s fist.
In my everything’s coming up roses
I am making bouquets out of dry petals.
Questions flower on my tongue
only to be met by the drought of no answers.
Lately I’ve been screaming in empty rooms
where my voice disappears into nail holes
I’ve hammered in my gallery of goodbyes.
There is weakness in strength, fear in being brave.
I’m tired of having to cross another valley,
but grateful I’ve never lost my shoes.
©Susie Clevenger 2023
