White Whale

A white whale—I swim in its mouth all year 

A darkened room, a maze made of keepsakes 

A mauve turtleneck, tight around the shoulders 

Cracked, plastic champagne flutes

Your fingers trace my collarbones until they meet in the middle

A burlap sack race that ends in a tie 

My neck snapped and nobody noticed,

I propped it up with a metal rod and a roll of masking tape, 

A makeshift body, broken, 

Burnt palms in lace gloves

Cover rock bottom with a flashy rug and maybe they won’t notice. 

I was a snake with its tail in its mouth, a cycle too comfortable to break 

Now,

Suspicious peace, a buoy in calm waters 

I reevaluate what I hold in my mind, what I hold in my hands 

What I keep in my space

Throw out old birthday cards and letters, sentimentality an unsuspecting enemy 

Purge my bedroom, remove the excess, bare bones

A dam made of twigs

Love leaks in through zigzagged cracks 

But there are things I cannot let go, 

A fermented peach stuck to the bottom of a basket

Fresh cut flowers in a grey-speckled vase 

A zip-up sweater made of soft brown fleece 

Reminiscent of the teddy bear I held to my chest when I slept as a child 

I find the familiarity serene 

This year, I keep my hands in pockets, recoil from outside touch 

Instead, I practice self-love, wrap my arms around my waist 

Pet my forearms, massage my temples 

Cherished companions in tableaux 

The end of the night is the end of the beginning of next year

A blown-out candle means goodbye

A new number to my name, 

A symbolic reset 

A ribbon pinned to my chest means

My survival is always worth celebrating