A letter I'll never send

A poem (I think)

Today’s post is my first time sharing a poem to my own Substack without any related reflections/commentary, and it’s a bit of a doozy. I had a hard time sleeping after a bad dream the night before last and ended up writing most of this between 4-5am. It just needed to come out, I suppose. It feels a bit more vulnerable to be leaving a lone poem here rather than in the comments of someone else’s post, but I trust that each of you will hold it with the same care as all the rest of my writing.

***CW for: allusions to sexual abuse, brief mention of anti-queer conservative Christian beliefs, overall theme of family estrangement. Please take care, friends.

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Photo by Joanna Kosinska on Unsplash

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Hi, Grandma. It’s me.

      (I think I’ve started every phone call that
      I ever initiated between us this way. 
      It doesn’t feel right to say anything else.)

I know you’ve been wondering why I haven’t called or visited.

      (I know, because I’ve heard it from
      everyone who has seen us both, 
      heard it multiple times,
      heard about how it makes you cry,
      how heartbroken you are.
      I’ve heard it from everyone but you.
      I know you have my number
      and could call anytime.
      I don’t know if I’ll ever understand
      why you haven’t tried,
      and the truth is, part of me is relieved.
      I wish I didn't feel relieved.)

The truth is, I don’t even know how to begin to explain all the reasons, and I don’t think you’d be able to understand them if I did.

      (I can’t stop thinking
      that I’d break your heart if I tried,
      that it would kill you.
      I can’t be the thing that kills you.)

The truth is, there are many reasons, and they all boil down to me not feeling safe with you anymore. 

I don’t feel safe with you, and I wish I could explain why.

      (You know the ways in which
      I have been betrayed, and you
      still chose to protect the men
      in our family. How could you 
      protect the men over me?)

And I don't think you know who I am anymore; I don't think you really want to.

      (I think we both know that in the years between us
      we have been moving in opposite directions,
      the spectrum of politics, gender, and sexuality
      creating a chasm between
      the me you always thought I should be
                 and who I really am.)

And I know that you have missed seeing my children grow. 

      (I think we both always thought you’d be
      as entwined in their childhoods as mine.
      The truth is, I can’t bear for them to hear you 
      talk about God and the world the way I did.
      And I can’t bear to introduce them to one more
      family member who can’t love all of me,
      who might not be able to love all of them.
      I can't bear to bring them near someone
      I might have to protect them from.
      My children are children 
      in ways that I never got to be, 
      and I won't take that away from them.)

And the truth is, I don’t know how to reconcile all of it, but please believe I’ve tried.

      (I spent so many years
      ignoring the wisdom of my body,
      so many years
      ignoring the boundaries
      she begged me to set
      in favour of the boundaries
      placed around me.
      She’s not begging anymore,
      and I can no longer ignore her.
      The truth is, I don’t want to.)

I wish things were different. I don’t want to hurt you. Please know I love you.

      (Please know I love you.)

-Me

Whew. If you made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read this poem. I’d love to hear from you in the comments if any part of it spoke to you. And as always, feel free to share if this resonated with you!