Monday, July 22, 2013

Where is it I watched myself from
those times
I said no, then followed you along anyway.
Those times
I could not find my voice, my legs, my fists-
to scream, to run away, to swing with a fury.
That purple glade, that cold foreign muck that seeped my bones
that kept me compliant,
that something invisible that held me firmly
when everything
in me said this is wrong and I don't know
and stop stop stop.
I felt it under my skin, like an oncoming fever,
like a knife severing
surface from substance.
How like you and everyone else
to watch my sideshow
and think, how like her,
without real thought or action
or interest in my opinion, just
Come along little girl, old standby, old lady, dear ghost.
And even now, I would be a nun among the towering trees
along the quiet path, between the flowers,
following words and my own
without a thought to

any of you.