Riddled between the horrors of yesterday
and the trepidation of tomorrow,
my mind wanders to the places
and the memories of my sorrows.
***
My first stop is with my father
who sits tall atop a mountain,
cheeks stained red with fright
I saw it once before, at the cabin.
***
Soon enough, my mother appears
joining us at the white peaks,
she turns toward me with salty eyes
I can almost hear the shrieks.
***
When the storm clouds move above
and the curtain is drawn back,
I see my younger self,
the girl who kept on track.
***
Racing toward the taught blue ribbon
nearly crossing the finish line,
my legs turn to jello
my arms become intertwined.
***
I’m a goopy puddle sitting in the mud
until I drip down through the soil,
Through the earth to the other side,
Splashing like slick oil.
***
My shape is then reformed
into an elderly woman,
who sits atop the peaks
in a rocking chair that is wooden.
***
She moves back and forth
next to shadowy silhouettes,
eyes looking wide
not worried about her debts.
***
The calmness of the beauty
surely opens my eyes,
my breath is still panting,
but my brain is alive.
***
I look across my bedroom
and what do I see?
The picture of the mountain
drawn by my father, for me.
***
The rocking chair by my bed
that my mother used to sit in,
to tell me bedtime stories
while mine was ready to begin.
***
Nothing is as it seems
when I am asleep,
but still, there is some reality
when I doze too deep.
***
I reach to my phone
to call my mother and father,
but no one picks up
it seems I am a bother.
***
Now my cheeks are stained red
with salt in my eyes,
I should learn to stop taking naps,
I don’t need to be energized.
***
If only I could stop dreaming
to keep my mind at ease,
because the reminders of the past and
hopes of the future became a disease.
About the Creator
KB
A snippet of life. Some real, some not. Thanks for reading!
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