Intangible
There was change, an odd pulse,
a new cadence and tone, in the place I grew up
where my mother had been...
Where white fences stretched out to cradle our home
but where zones, unfamiliar, were on now on the cusp
On a make-shift bed, I was lying awake
Windows cracked open,
a wind coming in, ....
Intangible nights, in the familiar old room,
alone with my thoughts, while sorting out things...
There was a strange, jaundice glow, from the porch light, left on,
and my pillow felt cold, where the moon used to go
The sound of a moth, batting wings against glass,
was begging for warmth, while seeking to ask, a place that made sense
And a place to fit in
My father was sleeping, with his newlywed bride
in the same maple bed, where my mother had died
And a new child was dreaming in the soft yellow room
where I spent all those nights, ... just me and the moon
I was happy for him, and for the child that he gained.
I was there at his side,
when the changes became.. a part of his life, ...... a part of mine too
but was lost in the amber, like a moth batting wings
Eventually, I would grow with a fresh point of view,
but the child that I was, still waits for the moon
I'm older and wiser, maybe stronger than then
but, the moth will look in, escaping the moon
ramming the screen
seeking the flame...
batting its wings,
while resisting the change, ...again, and again
11/3/14
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014
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