Author/illustrator of Whispers of the Goddess & The Quit Smoking Express. Graduate of the Long Ridge Writing Group & Institute for Writers
Running along a gossamer high wire
of thought and memory
tiny spiders spin their webs
between my fingers and toes
tiny bugs invading a space
that they don't know
is not their own
Hands of clocks rewinding
reminding me of yesteryear
Basements and shorelines
thick with glass and hypodermic needles
dismayed at the sight of another sunset
perplexed at the end of another very long
The highest chain link fence
around a baseball field
"Go." She said. "We will be there soon."
They never were there soon.
"Stay." She said.
"I will be there soon." I said.
I was never there soon.
Stripped down to my barest soul
walking along that mountain ridge
so long in my own vision
the Terrorist in my mind saying
"Go. I will be there soon."
"Stay. You were supposed to stay."
"Quiet. Stop it. There is no place for you here."
Everything has a moment. A meaning.
A deep dark track that we ride over and over
down into the recesses that bring us back around.
Don't want to stop there at the baseball field
or the lake
or the basement
because then the Terrorist loves it once more
He laughs so hard He spits in my face
He coughs and I hear my fathers cancer
He smiles and I see the misplaced gravity of ulterior motives
He whispers and I hear the message loud and clear