Recovery

There is no miraculous day.
One bleeds into another,
fibers of the soul clash and tear
and scar and rip and heal.

There is no day to look back upon
and say, "that was it."
It either happens or it doesn't
or you end up somewhere in between.

You can't say Saturday the 14th,
not until twenty or thirty years later
and then what do you know
beyond the air you breath.

People tell strangers
but they don't like to talk to the one's they love
about pain.

Do you know the taste of hot, ladled soup
when it's -44 below?