By Lori Primavera
The whistle was a harsh bitter blow to my sensitive ears
-not the magical sound it used to be
That train carrying images of sunny new places, other lives and future smiles
that sound wooing me with possibility
-with excitement of possibly being witness to such simple things as “new to me” grasses
new sights,wonder and unfamiliarities
new heights and views as varied and wild as my mind could concoct
Not today… not that train
That train represents every hope of adventure leaving me behind
every chance to be free passing me on
passing beside me
The blare and pulse of that train in sync with my throbbing temples
tension and rebellious mind splitting brain ache
growing closer and louder
growing smug and sarcastic
loudly and louder
hands to ears and huddled in a fragile ball until
finally fading and quieting
far awaying itself from me
Yes! Leave me. Leave me. Leave me and forever leave me
I don’t need reminders of that script I wrote
-have written for many a day
that movie I starred in and directed
that one about the garden and the world in harmony and the daily glimpse of full sun with a twist of lime and quinine
Yes! Leave me. Leave me . Leave me.
Leave me to take a wide step back into silence and then close my
somnolent eyes and forget again that there were ever dreams and remain again in this stagnate state
Leave me . You are not welcome here