Wednesday, November 28, 2007


Frequently I am startled to find myself awake
Fumbling in the darkness
To escape the ghosts
Tripping merrily in my room
I rise up from the bed
My pink nightgowns soft hem dusting
The Seventeen creaking stairs
As I make my way down them
This scene is so familiar
The soft moon glow
Gleaming white and cool
Outlining the curtains
Illuminating my children
Twisted in their innocent dreams
Hair awry and the sweetness of their lashes
Against their apple red baby cheeks
The incessant drone of the attic fan
Reminds me of the crickets
And then I think
It was sucking up great big gulps
Through the open windows
As if starving for a breath of freshness
Then spilling it out to settle wherever
And I wondered if that was the problem
All that fine lightness in the house
And me breathing it in
Filling up my lungs with the moon rays powdery talc
Magical dust that was trying to transport me
Into the evening sky
I could almost feel my feet lift off
For the tiniest moment... in flight

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