Waking with Weight

22 09 2012

The walking soul in so much excessive materialism sighs heavily—knowing Earth will slowly slip away with pills, bruises, and embarrassing weakness. If the soul of one infected with stereotypes and sadness could see beyond salty lashes, would her hand turn the brass knob of knowledge or fall limp beside the body?

The adventure of light filled dreams taunts the dying like a cat and mouse game—only the cat knows she will die. Dreams’ materialization into reality is uncertain. This uncertainty overpowers the pale frame under the threadbare quilt. Outside the wind blows the Japanese Maple. For a second, morning shadows shade her head from July’s Arizona heat. If her daughter’s camera could capture her awakening, she fears seeing herself in this light.

Feeling the light and the pain is quite different from permanent and possibly public exposure—especially in the early moments of morning. The awakenings scare her more than deathly fatigue.

The screen door slams and soon Ally is kneading the quilt at her feet. The cat’s purr provides little solace as her claws tear the fragile cloth. Ally reminds her of possibilities and responsibilities she’s forsaken or rather such has abandoned her to an existence of an observer. Her daughter doesn’t understand. She knows Molly is there in their home but that is all. Unfortunately compassion is not genetic. Maybe it is for the best.

Now there is a hole in the quilt.

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