She walks in silence and through her past, sees
what she’s missed…feels it slip by like leaves from trees,
cold and grey the winter of her discontent…a long
echo down halls of dreams, down her own personal
history, her own life on a page.
Ballet shoes and mirrors filled her days, filled her
with dread elation nervous shaking tomorrows, misty
dreams fueled by whispered secrets…giggled
realities lost on adolescent personalities, lost
in halls of dreams.
The nightly news took center stage with her, strength and
motion of women standing at the nexus, at the table
with men, with an eye toward the wisp, the flip of knowing
wisdom, acknowledgement of equality and not
deference…acceptance of the dream.
The harsh concrete upon which college is built scraped her
elbows and knees when she fell, when she woke from
high school dreams, from those long echoes…men only really
boys; in and out up and down falling always falling and
quietly destroying the dream.
Paychecks and mortgages and sleepless simple all night thinking
why why why as a snoring human lay close by, laid down as a
signal that the dream is finished…without closure, without the
benefit of awareness that she is who she is no matter, no
reason other than because.
Now it’s noses and tissues and toys and daycare and juggling always
balls in the air always time pushing up against her dreams again and
again and again…she listens to her past like an old radio, like
another echo that forgot to fade, forgot that happiness doesn’t
happen in dreams.
She walks in silence through her past and
into her today and sees
as diplomas are handed to jelly stained fingers as
pictures are taken as
videos roll as
a fifth grader becomes a sixth grader and
the past becomes the future…
those long echoes in halls of