This has got to stop. This world is all of our homes- whether we live in the US, Europe, or the Middle East. We’re all humans, yet somehow, humanity is severely lacking. We shouldn’t have to be on guard when we close our eyes at night, when we wake up each morning, or when we step out of our house. Just because someone believes, thinks, looks, or speaks differently than you, doesn’t mean that they truly are all that different. They’re still a person, with a family, with a home, with hopes, dreams, and aspirations… they’re still a person with a life. Respect, love, and understanding need to finally step onto the stage because I’m starting to get very tired of the show I’ve been watching.
She looked down at the blood stained bed,
staring at the shades of brown and red.
Her hands trembled as she wiped her tears.
She never thought she would have to face this fear.
Thoughts of could have been’s and if only’s
filled her mind, as her soul grew lonely.
This emptiness enveloped all of her being
as her heart sank to the silence of his not beating.
Something so small- a little baby
and the hope of maybe… just maybe
caused so much pain in this mother’s heart
that it clenched onto her spirit and tore her apart.
If you have words you would like me to use in a poem, comment on here or on my interactive poetry post and I’ll be glad to write something and link you to the post!
What was she doing here? What was I doing here? Why has she been lying to me? Why has she been hiding? Who or what caused this?
Questions rained down and flooded my mind. I was drowning in my insecurity and confusion.
“-if only you all coul-”
“Mom!” I suddenly interjected.
She lowered her head as her eyes slowly shut. She swallowed, tightened her lips until they were nothing but a white crease, and shifted her gaze onto me with a look on her face as if she just tasted the bitterness of black coffee for the first time.
“Can you not just tell us why we’re here? Why you’re here? I thought you were dead! I graduated, went to the prom, had my heart broken…. I grew up without my mom to stand beside me and tell me that she’s proud, that she loves me, and that everything will be alright. I have spent the past seven years missing you every day, as you’ve been sitting here, doing what? Laughing about how you had me fooled? Why are you here?”
“I don’t expect your forgiveness, Alicia, however I do pray for it. But that is not why you’re here. It’s not why any of you are here. I have made a lot of mistakes and I greatly resent each one of them. If only I could explain, honey. But I can’t. You’ll know soon enough.”
She lifted herself out of her chair and walked past me, brushing her hand along my shoulder. My family and I watched her as she exited out of the room. We looked at one another, probably all thinking the same thing, why are none of us going after her? But there was something strange about this place. Something unwelcoming but we were drawn to it. I know we all felt it, we couldn’t leave but we didn’t want to stay.
My father, sitting on the other side of the semi-circle looked at me and smiled, like he always has during trying times. Why does he seem to have no emotion? His wife, the love of his life, is alive! Shouldn’t he be happy? Maybe he knows something. But why would he hide it from me? We’ve been so close ever since my mom’s “death,”what would he ever have to lie to me about?
As more and more questions filed in, I became more and more uneasy. Nausea over came me and I had to do everything I could to hold myself together. I felt like I was melting, like there was nothing holding me together, my solidity was dissolving and answers were my only solvent.
I pushed myself up and turned to my family. “Does anyone know what’s going on? Why do I feel like I’m the only one who’s lost right now? Why am I here? Why are any of us here?”
“Because of me..” A voice so familiar, but so distant whispered behind me.
As I turned around, my confusion was no longer only a down pour, it became a hurricane.
To Be Contined…
My family, friends, everyone I’ve ever confided in, sitting together in a semi circle with an empty chair sitting across from them, facing towards the group. My Aunt Emilia moved her chair slightly away from my Uncle Robert, her ex-husband. There was that sound. Wood scraping against wood, making that terrible, aching screech.
What did I do that was so terrible that I deserved an intervention? Or what was so terrible that I was about to find out about that they think may cause me to need one? Either way, I expected to be faced with something much more morose than my loved ones looking at me disconcertingly.
A week earlier, when I came home from college for summer break, I found a small package in the mail that was addressed to me. I began tearing it open as I headed toward my house. As I stepped inside, the words overtook me. I leaned against the frame of the front door and read:
Typically, invitations are sent out for for those who are invited to something. Which you are not. It is in your greatest interest if you would attend. Your obligation is to arrive at 335 Ronan Place 562 in Berkshire Hills at 9 p.m. on June 9th, promptly. Something is waiting for you there. Come alone, as I duly noted, this is not an invitation, particularly not an open one. Upon your arrival, you will simply walk up to the house, open the door and step inside. Further directions will be given to you at that time.”
That was all. No return address, no signature, no clue as to who sent me this. Along with the letter, I was given a single bronze key, which had an attached note that read “This is not for use of the entrance.” I felt that I had no choice but to attend to this demand. I was unsettled the entire rest of the week questioning what could possibly be waiting for me at that address. When June 9th arrived, I couldn’t rest all day and my stomach felt like I just stepped off of the tea cups ride after eating one too many pieces of greasy pizza. Despite my unease, at 8:30 that evening, I called a taxi and headed to Ronan Place.
* * *
“Hello, sweetie” my mother said as she walked around the corner from the hallway into the entrance room. She took a seat in the center chair facing the group and invited me to take a seat along with the rest of my family.
To Be Continued…
She is always gone.
A stranger in her own home.
Her family mourns
The past they spent together.
Now always apart.