Baggage

Photo: CA Hawthorne

Photo: CA Hawthorne

She thought there was a place,
a place to engage her cleverness,
a place with gold-speckled streets
where the clean air was crisp,
the birds singing while she wrapped herself in peace.

Pitter-patter.
It must be rain.

She thought to leave the pain behind,
packing only little things
before traveling to that distant place
where mornings rise and sing,
her whittled down life all she’d ever need.

Pitter-patter.
It must be rain beyond the window.

She thought she’d found her safe place,
filling shelves till they were stocked,
each item where it belonged
right down to that final box,
its contents turning back the clock.

Pitter-patter.
It must be rain beyond the window
trying to gather inside.

She thought she’d left fears behind
in that place where emptiness haunted,
but in that box she saw the truth,
a drop laced with fears reflected
pooling before her as the warmth ended.

Pitter-patter.
It must be rain beyond the window,
trying to gather inside,
trying to gather in the box.

She thought there was a life,
a life in which she might hide,
but hiding is difficult
when the life is riddled with lies
and the only sounds heard are cries.

Pitter-patter.
It must be rain beyond the window,
trying to gather inside,
trying to gather in the box.
She doesn’t bother to wipe her eyes.

©October 2014, Christina Anne Hawthorne

3 thoughts on “Baggage

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