Poetry of Stephanie Bennett Henry, Uncategorized

Chill of the Rhythm

My post was solid, firm in the walls I built up around me to became one with. I was warm in the shelter I gifted to myself, even if it was imprinted with settling, hardened tough with seeds planted in resentment, rooted strong with regret ripping through too much stubbornness to care; I was warm there. But the foundation cracked, brought a chill to my bones, and blew through the places in my heart I thought I sealed permanent. And sometimes shelter is nothing but moments tied together with temporary strings from hearts that have more than one side, another face hidden beneath the one you thought was beating solo. You don’t know the words anymore, but you can’t forget the music. You cannot unfeel the rhythm of how those strings shook your core so hard, your bones still dance sometimes in memory of the music still playing, in spite of the words you forgot to hold, wakes you at night and fuck, it’s so cold. Nothing could ever cover this chill. The weather is different here, I crumble below the temperatures of where lonely forks off into… I don’t know anymore. Maybe my breathing is a lie trying to convince me I did not die, that this isn’t hell, and who knew hell could hold hands with my goosebumps just to cut the throat of each one? But at least I saw heaven first, just inside the safe place of when your eyes told me everything was okay and your voice cradled every crack I ever claimed… and god dammit, you watched my pieces hit the floor… you just watched. I’ll never forget how loud the silence was, pierced my broken, kicked it away into a void I cannot climb out of. And what does it say about me that I would still reach for your hand if it was offered? I would hold it so fucking tight, I swear to god… I wouldn’t let go. Even in the downward spiral of me, I would hold on as though the music couldn’t play any other way, learn the lines again, rewrite the heaven to stay, edit out the hell where you took your exit. Escaped so sweetly, even in the breaking… you’re still the most beautiful thing I know. I am rebuilding my post, making it solid enough to never crack. So I don’t have to risk the chance of beautiful things slipping through the cracks when I’m not looking. It’s just for me and the silence that rocks me back and forth, since I forgot the words, since I lost the music. But I’ll always feel the rhythm you put in my bones and sometimes, it still shakes me.

-Stephanie Bennett-Henry


2 thoughts on “Chill of the Rhythm”

  1. I think of remembering, in that place between sleep and wake, a love that made the world right, only to reach and be surprised they are not there before remembering why and how it is they are not, and even so, ready to welcome them again. Thinking of that, the rhythm in the bones make complete sense.

    Liked by 1 person

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