I must take off my gloves—
not the rubber gloves
for dishwashing, nor
the stiff cloth gloves for the garden,
not the wool gloves for snow
nor the leather gloves for stacking wood—
but the gloves you can’t see,
the gloves I wear to protect
you from me. Or me from you.
The invisible layers I think
I need to keep us safe. When
what you really need, what
I really want, is to show up
exposed, bare, to strip off
the unseen covering,
and from this tender place, say
I am sorry.