Sometimes I see him reaching out. His fingers splayed and grasping. Nothing else, just his hand, emerging from the darkness. Small, innocent, trusting. Believing that someone else is reaching back.
I returned and looked again. Time has passed, but some things remain the same. All the world like quiet snowflakes. Falling on frozen memories. I guess I’ll never know why. In my dreams he’s right there. At the end of my fingertips. But my body is paralyzed and I can do little more than look and wait. For the nightmare to end. Only it never does. Just a calm surrender to the past and nagging questions that pull like tiny anchors.
Maybe I was too young. Maybe I was too weak. He was always the stronger one. All those snips and snails and puppy dog tails. No match for sugar and spice. Maybe I just wanted to know what it would be like. The future just something make believe back then.
Now it flaunts itself in the denial of a failed poet. Wasting my life, trying to explain things that I never can.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
Time to wake up
I’m afraid. Of what the words might say. Should I give them the freedom they so crave. I want to write about the tragedies. To make them less tragic, perhaps. Turn them into stories and tales. Wave my wand and watch the butterflies burst forth from their cocoons. Steal back that message in a bottle, so no one will ever know. Not that my SOS went very far.
I want to relive the moments, but not as they happened. I want to change history, because I believe I have the power. Adjusting life’s rearview mirror, so I can see what’s behind me. It’s not in the past until I take that first step back.
Just frail wings, but the potential for so much catastrophe. Children crouching in the cold, until the darkness drives them home. Creeping up the sleeping steps, so loud and cruel. Surrendering to the blink of tiny lights, but it’s too late.
The fairy tale shatters. Lives come to a screeching halt. Pieces, pieces everywhere, but no words to give them flight.
I want to write about the tragedies. I want to wake up from this life.
I want to relive the moments, but not as they happened. I want to change history, because I believe I have the power. Adjusting life’s rearview mirror, so I can see what’s behind me. It’s not in the past until I take that first step back.
Just frail wings, but the potential for so much catastrophe. Children crouching in the cold, until the darkness drives them home. Creeping up the sleeping steps, so loud and cruel. Surrendering to the blink of tiny lights, but it’s too late.
The fairy tale shatters. Lives come to a screeching halt. Pieces, pieces everywhere, but no words to give them flight.
I want to write about the tragedies. I want to wake up from this life.
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