Unbuttoning

It’s just unbuttoning a coat,

isn’t it?

You think, it should be easy,

this slow peeling of layers,

one clasp,

then the next,

until you are bare,

until nothing but skin remains between us.

But I fumble,

fingers awkward with fear,

each button a memory

of being unloved,

of turning away

when the truth was asked of me.

You are patient,

eyes soft as wool,

but still, I hesitate-

not from lack of want

but from the weight of the past

that clings like wet fabric.

And when I finally shed it,

when all is open,

when all is seen,

there is no applause,

no grand reveal,

just a quiet warmth

where the cold used to be.

It seems easy,

this letting in,

this letting go,

but it’s always a little harder

than we think.