I think it’s important to realise that life only happens one day at a time, and I can’t snap my fingers and magically end up ‘where I want to be’ in the blink of an eye. I feel it’s important to acknowledge that everyone moves at their own pace, and I am exactly where I’m meant to be at this moment in time.
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I think my skull would rattle if you shook it –
filled with an assortment of past things.
I’ll pluck and keep them as trinkets,
souvenirs, mementos of has been.
I fear losing thoughts, and days,
so I pocket reminders of each place I go
(in heart, in mind, in body, in soul).
I awoke with my head submerged in water,
ears blocked, the world locked out of my perception.
There’s a knock on a window somewhere but I can’t tell which one
this muffled echo is coming from – a pathetic attempt at a sound.
I’ve lost touch with my senses, like they’re running out of battery,
confused with each other, I can feel sounds but not hear them.
Anything can sound like a voice if you need to hear one –
kitchen white noise – the refrigerator humming,
creaks in the plumbing are less scary if you long for just someone
(anyone?) to hear you (maybe I heard footsteps on a creaky floor).
Once upon a time,
some friends flew me to the moon,
we were together, laughing.
But they left me there,
alone,
no way home,
as they returned to earth,
together, laughing.
(I guess they weren’t friends after all)
A thousand feet drumming a heart beat.
Spies look down from tall tower eyes,
Watching as shrunken, scuttling
Entities swirl – phosphenes
In the city’s dream –
Who am I to
Anyone
But my
Self?
A heart wrapped in hope – a gentle embrace,
Puncturing one root at a time, now a heart encased
In hope – it grows. Implanting dreams of could be
And vision encompassed by a vignette, a keyhole –
Painted on the back of my eyelids is an outstretched hand,
Promise hidden in every second glance, every smile, and
My heart is in the clouds while my feet are on the ground.
If only I could pull them back together somehow –
We tried asking politely,
Quietly, talking amongst ourselves
Hoping you’d overhear in hushed
Rustles, a subliminal message
In your ear (save us).
Old lovers, old friends, had beginnings and ends,
But as my grip slips from the recollection, vines wind
Their way up a sleeping spine to twist into my sleeping mind,
Thorns hooked onto the memory, grown into a dream –
Becoming a dance with the familiar amongst the unseen.
I awoke without thought,
Just blank in my head
And a dream still hauntingly
Hung by a thread,
Unravelling a deepening
Hole in my chest.
Lauren Kathleen 