Bones Remember

My body remembers before my mind does

the way my shoulders climb

When a door shuts too hard,

The way my stomach goes quiet

like it’s hiding.

﹁﹂

I’ll be making pasta, just normal,

steam fogging the window,

and suddenly I’m back there,

counting footsteps in the hall

Like numbers could save me.

﹁﹂

People say “relax”

as if I’m choosing the flinch,

as if fear is a hobby

I picked up for fun.

﹁﹂

My bones keep receipts.

They file everything

in the joints, the jaw,

The tight fist I don’t notice

until my nails leave moons.

﹁﹂

Some nights I sleep crooked,

guarding my ribs,

and wake up sore

from fighting in dreams

I can’t fully name.

﹁﹂

But I’m learning safety has a texture

soft blankets,

a lamp left on low,

music that doesn’t spike my heart,

a locked door that stays locked.

﹁﹂

I press my palm to my chest

and breathe like I mean it,

like I’m speaking to an animal

That’s been cornered too long.

﹁﹂

Easy, I tell myself.

We’re here.

We’re not there.

And my body… hesitates,

then listens, just a little.