Burning Coals & Hothouse Flowers

You’re right. I don’t know
what it’s like
to be a recovering addict
wrestling with recovering every day
taking depressing doses of anti-depressants every day
carrying scary psychic scars every day
shedding self-defense always doing for others
spreading oneself so thin exposing thinnest of skin.
You’re right. I don’t know what it’s like.
But I do know what’s it’s like
to live with such a person
to love such a person.

It’s like walking barefoot on eggshells
scattered over broken glass
strewn over burning coals
surrounded by hothouse flowers
so fragile they release paralyzing pollen
if you sneeze on them
or if a chill breeze breathes on them
or if you glance askance at them
while you’re searching scrambling
scuffling desperate
for a deal any deal
on no-fault insurance.