I miss the younger me
The weightless unencumbered me
The carefree and aimless me
I want to hide beneath the weeping willow
A nature-made fortress…of solitude
Where, like Superman, I flew
Thin branches wound around my bone-thin forearms
Leaping against the pull of gravity
A mind that didn’t carry sorrow
Or guilt
Or servitude to the almighty dollar
A helium balloon in the clouds
Tethered to unslumped shoulders
How I soared
I bent spoons with my mind
Slayed dragons with vorpal sticks
I worshipped the mother in this church
Light shining through stained glass leaves
Many moons later
Barely able to lift head from pillow
I’ve sidestepped into a different reality
Where I no longer felt like I fit and I made sense
This alternate timeline
After 12 hours of contractions
I find myself sentenced
Now I’m a contraction at the end of a sentence
It is what it’s
erichmichaels 