words

Picnic

We pack our wicker hamper, sandwiches in triangles, crunchy apples, a flask of lemonade.

Set out for a day. An imaginary day. Away.

Lay out the best rug, in our garden,
no further. Not yet, not today,

The sun is warm and we dream of
days past, days yet to come,

Of all the places we will go, the faces we will see.

Of the warmth we will feel. On
that day.

White Noise

I should be sleeping. I turn the radio on. Listen to the songs, any songs to kill the silence that aches all night. To ease my restless mind. My broken heart. I close my eyes, clench my teeth. Focus on the noise. Breathe in and out. Heart races as the song ends, dreading the silence. The final punch…the last beat…to nothing…Still. I crack. Weakened. Next song. A little longer. I hope.

Unravel

Close to midnight my mind is busy, too busy. Tumbling and turning. Writhing around. A nest of thoughts tangled, tugging.

Time to pause.

I know I should pause.

But the tug is there. The mess is waiting. Pulling at my mind.

I can’t sleep. I still can’t sleep.

I go to the garden, sit on the swing. A chill catches me. I swing into the night. Reach for constellations, patterns I know well.

I swing, legs not touching the floor. Reaching for the stars. Searching for something. Not ready to land.

If I land. I fall. Trip up on my own thoughts. They wrap me up, pull me down. Too much. Tonight. I swing. In, out, up, down. I push myself harder, reach higher. Tears roll down my face. My fractured heart aches.

The stars fade. The sun breaks. Another tired day.