through a lifetime's worth
of things that cling to memories of yore.
Each item held, once held by one you loved.
Touch melting into secret spaces,
opening the past to present pain.
Treasured bits of innocence that
tear your older, altered mask apart.
Tears running out like ever pouring rain.
Purifying more than only things.
through the chaos left behind.
Reordering the cost of all we find.
Ventilating dusty rooms as if their
scent had lingered there too long.
Airing out the attic while the basement
waits in fear for the demise of all the
little bits and pieces of their lives
that it once held.
those long lost summer days.
When all that lay ahead of you was play.
When was it that the joy removed itself...?
See there, upon the highest shelf, the games
have all been gathering for many, many years.
Black dust, just like a magnet, touched and smeared.
Attached to all the lost and lonely little joy we knew.
then the bed, where mother lay in anguish.
You feel it as if yesterday returned.
Migraines pounding through her head.
She'd lay there on her wedding bed and cry.
Father never quite at ease within the covers warm.
Torn and broken, tinctures of an ever fading hue.
Switch scenes and wonder where the loving flew.
Little bits and pieces all too often were withheld.
The anger came. The snapping of the belt within
the hands that ought to care for us the most.
there, within the walls. Ground into
the carpets. Drowned within the dusty halls.
So little left to cherish when its done. Inheritance,
it came and went in moments all too often spent in pain.
The house grows empty as the garbage grows.
Less and less, their presence all too rare.
And once again, a childhood of emptiness
begins to build inside of you. Waiting, wishing,
praying for a flare, a scream - expression.
a good little child and don't make a sound.
Hold your silence while we gather round
the dinner table. Emotions hold no sway
within the grander family ways. And now
I understand the loneliness. Cold, precise
and ever ordering. I track back to the attic
with the savings plan amended. A bonfire
burns so beautiful and bright. And as the
ashes take to flight, I fly...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2004 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .