Unmoored

Slice a third of me off

Leave me hanging in shreds

If I’m not a bastion of safety for you,

then I’m unmoored.

If I’m not the rock onto which

you can grasp and scramble over,

If I’m not the ladder you can ascend

and descend at will,

then I’ve failed you.

I hadn’t realized how blurry our identities were,

the membrane between us invisible and porous.

Our cells intermixed since you grew inside me.

I scramble to make sense of it,

to steer the ship right.

I hold you, guiding us to the lighthouse.