By Meredith Westover
Am I a fleeting star – in your mind’s eye
Hurtling through black space.
One glimmer…one peek…one wish
Lost to eternity.
Am I a shadow – trailing every step,
Away…away, never catching up.
Sun falls flat when crossing paths
God, is that the only time I cross your mind?
Am I a satellite – orbiting your thoughts.
Am I alien, to you? I appear soon…and again,
Once in a while. Sometimes, snatching smoke
for there’s no gravity to hold me down.
Am I a breeze – wafting through a cracked door,
Sliding…crawling, on your mind’s playing field.
Dredge up passing moments…images…touches
Begging to catch a glance on downturned lashes.
Am I a meteor – crashing through your atmosphere
Catching…fueled by empty promises.
Unavoidable destruction…Ash and sticker shock,
Bang – shake it off, but we touch bone.
Am I a tidal wave – flooding your senses
All you hear is my voice, it makes you tremble
All you feel is my skin, it makes you melt
All you see are my eyes, they make you cry…wait, smile.
Am I sand – beneath your feet
With every ebb and flow, I separate.
Tessellate, for there is no solid ground
Every grain, rubbed raw and rare, ripped from sun baked bliss.
Am I dust – on a photo in a frame beneath your bed,
Do I dance between pages, pressed petals, caressing lost…
Life, blown away, looked at with fondness..never.
Always longing for belonging.
Am I a blanket – covering your eyelids,
Clouding your vision…heavy fog.
Poured concrete, setting my forever print.
Weighing you down…pressing…restraining.
Am I a red balloon – mounting the sky
Tied me down only to….come on, lift your finger.
That’s it. You don’t even watch me float away,
Turn your head, to brighter days.
Am I a rock – at the bottom of the sea,
Left to drown in misery
I sink lower…to the depths of your memory
For I am gone, gone, gone.
Am I an empty seat – a vacancy
Accepting applications please.
But here, take a tip, all you have to do is smile, smile
That’s all it takes, he’s not particular. Just inviting.
Am I a rotting old chest – tucked away…
Somewhere so you won’t feel sad, poor you.
Do I escape…sometimes, storm your troubled mind
Overturn laughs, upset smiles. I hope so.
Am I a hulking tornado – spinning recollections,
Churned up from every nailed down floorboard
Spitting grime, sprinkling shine. Don’t forget.
Inescapable and chaotic. But you…can’t forget.
Am I a roller coaster – twirling fears in each hand.
Please keep your hands and feet
Inside the ride at all times.
Am I everything you felt, and nothing you feel
Your guilty conscience, does it kill you?
Do I? or are you content to be color blind
Famished by fever and left to starve, choked by sparks.
Am I a patch – on your tapestry, your quilt
Am I stitched into a tiny corner,
Or sprawled in the middle, central…your core.
Or maybe, every thread touches mine. Interwoven..interlocked.
Am I a wound – a battle scar, if you will,
But then again, they ask, who stuck the knife in?
Oh Mister Masochist, you tell me.
For I could never read a sadist.
Am I your pillow – tending holy ground
When you lie in bed
Do these words run through your head
Everything we’ve ever said.
Am I a dream – braiding past with present
Blurring future with history
Now with the former, preceding
Mixing…churning, currently gone.
Am I years, or time? – do I have years,
Or is this it?… no last words, no farewell. Wait, this is it.
Maybe, or do our tracks intersect…intertwine again.
Unless…this is it.