The Party Is Over Poem by Melvina Germain

Walking along the sun burnt blades, sucking in the night air.
I felt a tingling in the pit of my stomach, something about to
cross my path. A faint hissing sound seemed to permeate my
space and I cowered wanting to find a safe place to rest my
weary feet.

Whispers, faint whispers took the airway and I choked back
the need to cough. A cramp held tight in the back of my
leg and a dull ache caused me to limp while pain increasingly
climbed toward the rear of my knee.

My chest burned as if on fire and my body trembled in fear of the
growing stillness around me. Tired and fearful, I quietly quivered.
Alas a trickle of light appeared in the distance and hope of
encountering friendly people was plausible.

Standing still, breathing deeply, I slowly pulled in that soothing
warm air, taking the deepest breaths possible as if adhering to
a doctor’s instructions. It was then, I heard a scratching sound
and a whistle, almost simultaneously. In amazement, I hung in
my space holding on to a branch of a poplar tree, that grew
massive in height, bent slowly to the side as if ready to topple
to the ground. I held tightly to its offering hand.

Voices, muted sounds of voices swirled through the air. I
wondered, how many voices linger here. Perhaps a choir of
Angels abound. A humming sound entered the symphony of
the wind and the sound of rustling leaves added the background.
Quite a rhythm coming forward and I… well I was the only
audience, that is, me and the blinking eyes of a white owl boldly
perched on the strong arm of a tree branch. Her eyes glistened
that diamond flicker in the moonlight. She was fixed with silent
emotion as she blinked often and covered me with her curiosity.

I felt someone tugging at me, they seemed anxious and became
more and more aggressive, shaking me, rubbing my arms. I
can’t see them, the darkness is full bodied and now that trickle
of light dissipated. Oddly enough the voices became more apparent,
and I recognized them. The words were strong, wake up, it’s time to
wake up, you must go home.

The aftermath of a night spent consuming numerous concoctions of
that dang fire water. Wobbling on the line of insecurity and wavering

on the bridge of innocence. O my head, a throbbing mess. O my
it’s morning, the party is over and I have to face the day.

Written by: Melvina Germain
Date: July 6/2013