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Oranges
Oranges, the sweet smell of oranges is what I notice in
the dark. I smell
them as her fingers gently tick my nose that way she has. She gravitates,
always coming back to me. I suppose I should be happy she stays at all
It's all there in her eyes, that sadness. She thinks she'll
never find that one who can wipe away that feeling. Her hopefulness is
her sanctitude. It's the one place she feels at home. Her home is so far
away from her, she doesn't know where it is right now, she can't even
find it to save herself.
Never really had a home, a rapid sucession of faces pass
her by. None really lasting long enough to learn the complexities of her.
She feels like no one wants to share the shadows with her. She shares
so many shadows, but is tolerated only when she brings a candle. She rejects
her own shadows. Ignoring herself to the point of carelessness. She forgets,
washing everything away in her mind; lets it all escape her. She didn't
write for fear she would remember herself.
Making sense has never been
a virtue.
She sees each side and feels nothing, nothing but sadness.
She no longer cares, she feels the pain and the joy, but no longer concerns
herself with the inside. In her naievete, she thinks no one notices,
but they do. She sees this and forgets because it can't stop the shadow.
And she cries in my helpless arms. Eventually she will wrap her light
around the shadow. She thinks she's inpenetrable, the empathetic scare
her,
they can show her her shadow even in the light. She has to acknowledge
the
shadow someday, before the light dims, losing it's brightness. The
sharpened edge of her wit is her saviour, protecting her from all who
can feel her. She cries when she laughs, it's the only time she can't
reign
it all in. The laughter lets go of the tears she can't swallow. She
can't sew. Can't sew to mend herself, the holes she feels inside. So
many stitches, the knots slip and she scrambles to tie them back
together before she slips. Into herself and the darkness.
I lie beside her
smelling her sweet oranges and lying to myself that someday she'll look
out and see me.
-Angela
http://home.earthlink.net/~iguanagirl/
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