The Eclipse

My dad used to whip me with his words,

words like a spear,

lingering around like a cut that had formed on top of a scab.

I sometimes wonder if that is why

I’m so afraid to hear what they really think.

Will they start spewing out 

more words that feel like a ton of bricks?

The light shines in my face,

warm tingles and illuminated smiles.

I don’t notice the way it hurts my eyes

and the way it burns my skin.

Words flow without a second thought,

if only we could take it back. 

The only good thing about getting a cut on top of a scab 

is that your skin will show you its resilience. 

But it still hurts like a bare wound,

and every cell inside of me is telling myself

to close that door. 

When the eclipse appeared in a timely coincidence, 

what had been hidden 

struck me like a slow gong,

and I wished I could turn back the time,

but knew a step forward was all I could afford.