the girl

maybe we’ll all dance one day bare feet on dewy grass- all of us stepping out from the shadows to show the world our faces.

the light and the dark.

I walk the hallways of my memory and gather all my selves.

I hold the hand of the woman who stayed too long hug the one who left.

but I never know what to say to the girl.

sometimes I find myself standing in front of her door, cracking it open, peering inside.

she’s always smaller than I remember, her long dark hair cascading down her back, books stacked high on her bed, paint peeling off the walls around her.

the ghosts of her home circle her body.

bugs crawl up and down her arms like they’ve forgotten she’s alive.

her eyes are closed, hands clasped against her chest, whispering:

hug me hold me here. look at me again tell me that the things I’ve made are beautiful tell me that you remember me tell me that you see me. tell me you won’t go away again that you love me that we can share the world like before.

I close the door and leave her there, let her tears fill the room.

I just can’t go in there yet.

outside, I press my hand against her window.

she doesn’t turn around.

I scream at her back:

let me in- I’m tired.

there are things I can’t remember anymore. I need you to tell me.

was there love here? was there pain? how do I go back? how do I come home?

I turn away before she can close the blinds.

maybe next time we’ll call her name and she’ll look into my eyes and recognize me.

maybe one day we’ll open the door together bring her to our center, and introduce each other to the things we’ve lost.

we’ll walk out into the the light bare feet on dewy grass.

no doors no windows. no lines anymore.

the Earth is mine the Earth is ours.