I know

I know this ache,

my body speaks

as I lay naked in my bed.

the one too small to need anything,

and here hours after I notice.

curls of a feeling with no words formed,

ripples

out

out

circling.

making wider impacts.

how deep does this splash run?

is this watermark permanent?

what qualities

does water share

with this wordless

feeling

I only know as an ache.

emotional,

or motioning?

rooting,

or gathering?

tending,

or attending?

Sore,

mmmmmm, yes.

Real,

mhmm.

mhmm, I repeat

needing to hear myself

know what I need.

I know,

this ache reminds me.

the way our bodies do

what we will forget,

again,

as we ask them to repeat

the last thing they said.

able to trust

that they will.

I know,

this ache remains.

mhmm, I repeat.

resting,

if not floating,

wondering what carries me.

--

--

Writer. Thinker. Facilitator. Advocate. Invested in accountability for power based violence, creative initiatives, and meaningful, nuanced dialoguing.

Love podcasts or audiobooks? Learn on the go with our new app.

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store
Amanda Lindamood

Writer. Thinker. Facilitator. Advocate. Invested in accountability for power based violence, creative initiatives, and meaningful, nuanced dialoguing.