It’s all so familiar
The hills in the distance
Shimmering in the light of dusk
The air hot from the summer’s heat
The tall grass, fading to brown
Ready for the first cutting
Waving in the breeze
Like wind on the water
Standing on the worn planks
Of a room
That looks for all the world
Like the bedroom you grew up in
The window
Framing this all too familiar view
Still holding an immature carving
Of a dog, with the name “Howitzer”
Etched above it in the windowsill
This all has the feeling
The feeling of you-ness
But it isn’t
It cannot be
The place that this place
Purports to be
Ceased to be
More than twenty years gone by
Bulldozed
For a shopping mall
And a parking lot
Even with
The brain knowing
What this truth is
Doesn’t stop the body
From knowing what it sees
Feels, tastes…..
Even the air here tastes like home
And there’s the catch
The contradiction
Is that thing that can’t be
BE?
Or are you in a place called madness
Of old age
Prisoner in your wizened body
Your brain playing tricks upon you
Kneeling to the floor
Legs going weak
Hands flat, fingertips tracing the grains in the flooring
A lone tear wending it’s way down your cheek
Then a movement in the corner of the room
A flash of light
In the gloom
A firefly
Reaching for the jar on the bedstand
You crouch, and creep towards it
Unscrewing the lid with one hand
The other holding the jar ready
Reaching
Reaching out
Ready to scoop up the flickering light of youth
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