I curl up on the patio.
Wrap one of my grandmother's quilts
around my shivering shoulders;
the ones that still bear
the world's weight.
I make a masterpiece with the stars,
connecting the dots in my mind.
I escape from it all for one evening.
Melt into the sound of crickets singing,
let the fireflies dazzle my eyes.
The trees shimmer their leaves on down,
crinkling as they hand victory
to the cracked cement beneath.
We've all got to fall sometimes.
But I keep tripping
in the same old places,
and this is why I seek
the answers tonight.
I know that angels gather
around the flickering
wax sticks of flames.
I know they hear my prayers
and words of pain.
But nothing around here has changed,
so why do I keep coming back here
again and again?
“Why does the sun rise every day?
Some things just never change.”
And if that is their answer,
then what can I say?
All I can do is sit on my
imaginary porch swing,
dreaming of possibilities
that only exist in my head.
I will cherish these
broken wings anyway,
as a souvenir
of what used to be.
As a bookmark
that keeps me
here on this page.
