2022-03-18
"it is late in the day, very late"
When everyone is gone. I park myself in motel shadows of dying, blue hills. My sleep is a slow and heavy rotation through stars. Childhood ghosts flare across drive-in movie screens and quickly fade into the night.
My greyed-out sister still waiting alone among the stone monuments and bright, winter mornings of Washington, D.C.. I walk, arm-in-arm, with her. "The end of the world is a bright place," I tell her. This blue sky is a peaceful graveyard.
My mother's face looks more child-like and vulnerable with every seasonal photograph.
I fail everyone who protected me so long ago. I need to unstuck myself. Before it's too late. Even if it's too late.