Of Hours Spent (In Slavery) Or Atlas Of A Modern World Poem by Amberlee Carter

If it were only night,
I’m sure the light wouldn’t move
as it does, instinctively
Carving out dark figures of a fear
The heart can only assume.

If it were only night,
I’d say it’s merely loneliness
rather than an actual nostalgic ache-
but what is actual? reason and logic?
not something that whispers wonderment
to lovers.

I think if it were only night,
I’d feel myself sinking into the sheets,
soft tissue of home, smells of mother,
flowers, rain and death, though not my own.

I’m an orphan, except I remember parents
long gone, in times
that move throughout my dreamscapes
casting shadow memorabilia
of an ancient war.
Growing up in the country,
walking through wheat fields at midnight-
I remember, the heat rising as if it were a second sun
sprung from the bowels of the earth-
I remember in my back yard.
there were stars I set a compass by-
and stepping out the front door
into a world I had never seen before,
except in dreams, I knew I couldn’t fly-
Though I remember, my heart was courageous
and my hands weren’t worn from possibility
to mere bone.