Friday, July 19, 2013

The day I drove past my childhood home

I realized I had been avoiding it,
much as I had ‘lost’ contact with people from school,
shunned reunion’s as a rating game to see how you've fared in life,
on this, the day, I found myself in viewing distance
of the house in which I grew up...

I looked at a house that was no longer there
and heard the whisper of children’s voices on the wind...
grown up’s dictating, children obeying, silence when ordered so…
And as more images tumbled over one another in a chaotic mess,
I found myself searching for flashes of happiness,
for regret that I no longer lived there, was 14-years old,
free from any responsibility and looking forward to the rest of my life...
surely they must also be there somewhere?
Had that even lived there, or had it been struck from the record
by too many bleary eyes, apprehension of what will be
and the never-ending state of pretend in which we lived.

…those were the rules of that 14-year old girl:
no use making ties, reject attachments -
much easier than to trying to explain and giving them ammo -
don’t excel, don’t fail, just stay in the field that warrants the least attention,
don’t side, don’t speak out, be agreeable and make peace no matter what.
Yet each time the moon colored the world a happy silver
she felt the shame that wasn't her’s to bear,
bowed under the guilt that wasn't her’s to carry,
and cried for the choices that weren't her’s to make…
Are these the images that remained, even after all these years???

I stare at this house so familiar, yet oddly foreign,
where the color is wrong and the trees have disappeared…
a house that looks like it’s been stripped by heartache and despair,
a garden that’s surrendered to the ravages of nature.
And as I drive away I wonder whether it is the memories that taint this house,
or whether time has simply waged its war and won…

Monday, July 1, 2013


picture credit:

A silent death awaits those
who prey on the weakness of others
for absolution of their sins,
those willingly accepted as their own to bear
in moments of their own flawed redemption.