Alone, I tried desperately, throwing myself like a slingshot to see how far I could get before being reminded I was still a baby boomerang until I finally had to marry someone to cut the ties to get far enough away from my past-my little town- the small minds and tiny tree cages or giant semper virens prison I grew out of, fathoms enough away to not hear or at least unintelligibly muffle the moans, which originated as screams it seems, the empty echoes, broken boughs, and out of tune heart-strings only to be yanked right back there, teleported as I took out the trash, and there-traveling down the street, coming at me, over fences instead of between trunks, the barking, the dogs voice, his protective tone, the accusatory way this bark comes at me and says, no matter where you think you live, your permanent resident is at my back and calling me to another place-time out of this distant expanding private space, and I shake slightly, trembling at the thought, this is PTSD…
I wash my hands of all GSR and trash after having aimed at the moon, shot an evil eye at the neighbor and caught a star that fell randomly into my lap. It told me its name was Experienca.
Artwork By McBey, James [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
No comments:
Post a Comment