i think sometimes

 

that home is more the woman i left behind.
like if i drive all the way back there, i'll find
her again. this me is not me. this changeling,
shuffling creature who only pretends to be
real, pretends to be alive. this person who
says and does things now by rote instead
of by feeling.

i think sometimes that if i can look in the
eyes of my sons again, i'll find her, this
dead woman who's only playing at a
life that includes the things she thinks
will give her substance and depth.

i think sometimes that if i can drive the
roads of my youth, i'll see her standing
alongside a field, watch her as she plants
a garden, wipes the sweat from her eyes,
see the muscles of her throat move as
she drinks deeply from a tall frosted glass,
i'll recognize her.

i can't stand this lost feeling. i have made
friends here, i make friends easily, but they
are not the people who know me well, they
don't speak with a rhythm i recognize or that
i can easily understand. they don't help me
feel grounded. i find myself flying in little
pieces around the room sometimes, like
feathers from a pillow that's come apart.

i just want to feel as if i know who and what
i am again. i want to know where i'm going.
and 10 months is long enough to know that
things aren't working. isn't it? should i waste
more time trying to find a me who doesn't
exist anymore? or who doesn't exist in this
form?

i don't know anything anymore except that i'm
thirsty for the sights and sounds and smells of
all the things i left behind. you may not ever
be able to go home again, but i won't feel
complete unless i try.

and it's got little to do with knapper. it's got
more to do with how i feel about the direction
my life is taking.

it's got everything to do with survival, and
very little about living.

denise

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