Awake, Again

I open my eyes to rainbow fields already

in bloom and the sweet smell of

pollen, which fills my roommate’s lungs with a cacophony of coughs

and sneezes, and makes me ask, WHERE HAVE I BEEN?

when I closed my eyes, the world was comprised

of copper trees and long evenings

and I was happy. oh, to be happy

again. to leave this sorrow, this season

forever. to be there, not

here.

I’ve been asleep.

day after day after day after day; I’ve missed too many to

count. when I closed

my eyes, the leaves were falling—

leaf

by leaf

by leaf

by leaf

by leaf,

falling onto the ground.

if a leaf falls in the forest and no one is around to hear

it, will I finally wake up

happy?

I don’t remember what it feels like to live

and really live—

the only company I kept

was Fleetwood Mac, but I couldn’t think about

today,

let alone tomorrow

my days were dark for so long—

sad season, no reason.

predisposition. it seems my brain is conditioned

to view the world in shades of

blue. color-blind to life—even my dreams

are colored melancholy.

did I call my sister

on her birthday? when was the last time I ate

more than a piece of toast?

I don’t remember baking christmas cookies or decorating

the tree—when did we get a tree?

the last thing I remember is

halloween

that exam

his birthday

her party

buying this sweater

they won’t stop

listening to the leaves.

I sleep

and sleep

and sleep

through my life.

I don’t remember thanksgiving—

I know I went home but I don’t remember

the taste of the turkey or if my mom

made sweet potatoes or if my dad

watched football

but he must have.

I’m missing

time, but I don’t miss it.

Can you miss something if you don’t know

that it’s gone?