Memories & Encounters

Stay, they said. -- I had to. No choice.

Rest, they said. -- I couldn't. Not ever.

Don't worry, they said. -- Were they kidding?

Don't get up, they said. -- But I did. My body, my choice.

Come back here, they said. -- No way. Let me go.

Rock, they said. -- Wrong rhythm. Not for me.

Kneel, they said. -- Attempt failed.

Breathe, they said. -- I am. Can't you hear?

Move, they said. -- I am. Can't you see?

Walk, they said. -- One step at a time.

Settle, they said. -- Maybe. A little.

Climb, they said. -- All the way to the top.

Reach, they said. -- I can't. I can't.

Breathe, they said. -- I am. Can't you feel?

Imagine, they said. -- Imagine what?

Push, they said. -- No. No! Not ready.

Inhale, they said. -- I thought I did.

Push, they said. -- What a feeling. So good.

Easy, they said. -- You are telling me?

Push, they said. -- Pushing. Pushing.

Almost, they said. -- Yes, almost.

Here, they said. -- The light. The love. My daughter.

The ceiling-hugging, three-sided mirror

reflecting never-seen things.

The curtain-hidden view of the backyard

with its old, crumbling buildings

through intimidatingly tall windows.

The soft, ship-sized bed

with downy pillows and always-fragrant sheets.

Two gold-framed paintings

depicting beautiful, peaceful, wistful landscapes

somewhere in Europe.

The antique, dark, angst-inducing figure

of a wooden eagle

sitting on top of the extravagant closet,

my grandmother's pride.

Crystal night lights

with the complicated, century-old switch.

The romantic painting of a nude

woman

glowing, beckoning,

resting between expensive, sleek sheets

from days gone by.

The familiar smell of my grandmother's perfume

lingering in the air.

Mumbled words seeping through the closed door

from the living room

with its milky glass windows.

The shadow lights of passing cars

moving silently along the wall

Showing me I am not alone

in this world

as I seek peace in the dark

of my grandma's old bedroom.

Long gone

are the days

of the so-called childlike innocence

of authentic, unknowing laughter

of careless games

of ungrateful sleep, talk, life.

Long gone

are the moments

of utter non-concern

of total one-day-at-a-time living

of momentary, rapidly disappearing thoughts

that only focused on the imminent.

Long gone

are the happy times

of not seeking the meaning of life

of total acceptance of unexplained existence

of womb-like safety

of small, imperfect, but at least once-possessed contentedness.

Long gone

the days, the moments, the times

with knowledge appeared the questions

the unanswered ones, and the permanent search

for the opportunity to return to

childlike innocence, utter non-concern, happy times.

Long gone

Long gone

Long gone

Questions, questions, questions

A quest, a quest, a quest

for the meaning of life

that this grown-up child requires so badly.

A fleeting look. Brief sparks in your eyes. Eye contact interrupted.

Another gaze. More intense. A tentative smile. Mutual. Interruption.

After a seemingly endless time - a stare. A look that makes the sun shine, my breath falter, and my heart beat violently.

There - warm laughter. A wink. Stop.

And then - an imaginary kiss, only visible to us. Now we've known each other for two months already, and with each passing moment, I love you a little more.

Considering you are only eight weeks young, your smile is amazingly flirtatious.

- My son. -