A Nightmare, Recurring.
by Maria Kintner
There is still a bruise there.
Somewhere deep in the marrow.
A tiny unhealed bump, curled in an
angry red ball. It hides beneath the silt;
the calcified crusts of tears fully shed.
Under layers of time, memories and other distractions.
I hardly know it's there.
But the probing fingers of my subconscious are insistent upon
finding it; digging it out of its bloody little grave, to toss
between its hands that old ache of what used to be.
And it works too well.
Well enough to yank me back in time,
knowing that I will search for you,
confused by your absence.
It's been so long since we used to talk.
Where did my best friend go?
I can never decide which is worse:
to search for a reason
that I don't know you anymore,
or waking to remember that the dream died
Author's Note: It's been almost five years and I still cannot convince my self that you're gone.
Posted on 01/23/2013
Copyright © 2020 Maria Kintner
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by George Hoerner on 01/23/13 at 01:10 PM|
Oh girl, wait for 50 and when you still feel those lips and the smile and the smell then you know it isn't a dream. It really happened. Nice write.
|Posted by Dane Campbell on 01/22/14 at 12:37 AM|