Green Briar Park

In dreams they come,
  Slithering, flapping, 
Leaving dust and shards and feathers in their wakes.
  No scent, just flailing, viscous eddies 
More thought than force.
  And skies of mud, soundless.
Leaving in their wake
  apprehension.
To go, not go,
  I stand, and shudder, small 
And deep within my cells
  They push,  I stand.

Age 13.  Somewhere between baby girl, and half grown woman.  A simple weekend walk becomes a war zone.  The park, my destination.  I can see them; all long and lanky arms and elbows, legs and knees.  Raucous yelps of pleasure and something desperate.  All 13.  Somewhere between baby boy and half grown man.  Playing b-ball, at GBP.  I am not able to move forward,  I am too entranced; trapped between my desire to swing and repelled by their cruelty and derision.  They are in my way.  I don’t realize that this is the true beginning of who I am to be.  I will learn, in time that if, and when I want to swing, I am so much more powerful than they will ever be.

Brown Velvet box

Sometimes, in the dark hours, when the birds in the parking garage are silent, and all I can hear is the shushing of the tires of the homebound late shift workers, I think about you.

I try to remember the good times, the times in Technicolor, filled with heart and soul so deep all I could see was rich, brown velvet.
In a box,

that velvet climbed up the walls, caressed the bottom, contained my heart and closed it in, with cover tight. We had a thing that I am unable to name. Your face was my face, I was you and you were me…I think.

But when the chips were on the table, when it was time to show our cards, you folded. Folding, for me, was not an option. I played my hand, but it wasn’t big enough for you, wasn’t high enough, wasn’t dear enough, because you walked away from the table.

The ripple from your exit still nudges my boat.

Your hateful, negligent rhetoric and absence ripped great, bleeding wounds so deep inside me, that even now when I remember then, 
the scar tissue tingles faintly.

I was never able to let you go, because you see, you were careless enough to leave part of you with me. Funny that you didn’t even miss those parts. You were so full of yourself that those tiny, flickering flames you left me never had the power to make you turn, to look, to see how, as time progressed in my world, those flames became the light with which I traversed my world.

Now I am just I.

And you are living on another planet. I would not want you, or anyone to open that box for me, because you see, my heart was locked inside it. Lid tightly closed, It sits, in shock, unable to move beyond. I’ve tried. I don’t have the technology.

But I’ve learned to persevere. Which is different than to thrive, and in persevering I was able to release my self to those brilliant flames, that you chose to ignore for year upon years. 

So you may now have one of those flames, and I dearly pray you don’t do or say anything to snuff it out. This one needed you; she had always possessed the uncanny talent to get exactly what she wanted.

It’s not for me to say whether it’s right or wrong, it just is. But let me assure you, here and now, if you hurt or damage that flame in any way, I will come after you with a wrath you’ve never even imagined I possessed.

a hug for Brauna...

feel not alone,

for your heart is in good company.

feel joy, feel release,

feel a mother's love,

the holding tight

the caress,

the instruction

for a life of good works,

and the letting go.

feel not alone,

for you are in good company.