Haunted

25 August 2021 Wednesday Prose Poem: lighter breath

Photo by Snowscat on Unsplash

Fashioned devastation into a cape — draped over my shoulders, carried your ghost from room to room —

Yawning, infinite tunnel where a door once was —white noise wind; no sound out, no sound in — nothing for Earthly eyes to focus on —

Peripheral days danced away, light and pretty — so I coloured the boxes on all the calendars black — listing in one place; behind me, a wall of memories, in front felt like hypocrisy.

All talk was small…Recognised the shape, the sound, contorting the air around me — those syllables and soliloquies that once held me in awe and brought peace were hollow to me —

Things that used to matter didn’t mater, you used to be matter; tangible — in a way I could touch and handle — god, please, if I could hold her now I’d be so careful, it’s so fragile…

In solitude, grief weighed on scales — tucked beneath pillows, sat in empty chairs at tables — never too far out of reach, security blanket — a ghost wrapped in a ghost…

Caught in the wake of my cape, primitive tools — love, patience— waking up one day to see the castle they had built around me — keeping safe the gift of time.

Slowly, slowly it changed — now, not a tawdry ghost — not grief — something deeper, permanent; bittersweet. Shaken off my shoulders, re-sewn into the core of me.

Inch by inch, the further I crawl — the tunnel opens, focus sharpens —

I think I can survive this.

Caitlin Rebecca

____

In response to J.D. Harms prompt.