Mind flooded with memories
Spilling over now
Onto the page
Ciphering through this very pen.
My fear had dissipated in such short time
So I disregarded the private number’s suggestion
And did not move to higher ground.
I’m stubborn
Always have been…
Stubborn enough to ignore the damage
And return to the house we’d built;
The house that has yet to become a home.
They’d called me persistent;
Damned fools
Thinking I was repairing the damage,
When I was only covering it up…
The water’s rising again
Pulling layer by layer of paint from the walls.
A drowning pool of color forms before me
Mimicking the rainbow I’d thought I’d seen before—
Before-when I had been convinced the storm had come and gone…
I was wrong…
And now my shame only feeds the fire
Fueling the mockery,
provoking the hateful game
encouraging as a siblings’ laughter is to the child lacking discipline.
As the mockery continues,
Another torrent of nostalgia rushes in.
Pigments are stripped away
Exposing an ironically cheerful palette of pastels.
So here I sit
Staring at the pew before me...
A service is being held
And I only want to see because I can’t…
I can’t see past the Easter bonnet the past wears atop her hateful head.
I feel as if it’s Christmas again
Outside the snow is falling
Beckoning me to dance among the crystal ornaments that fall from the sky…
But the phone is ringing—
A siren-
Whose song I can’t yet resist.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem