Amnesia in Retrograde
Daylight makes me
a shadow on the wall
unseen and unheard, except
I’ve learned my lines,
but every now and again I
slip up, to the audience of puzzled looks
and cold shoulders.
I knew how to be alone,
protected by the warmth of youthful
energy, but now
I slow down
blood pressure static
and I creep around, creepily
tilting at windmills.
Or just tilting.
Here, in the bright,
I forget more than just names and dates,
but I console myself that I never
had the chance to learn who I was,
because people always told me what they wanted.
I don’t realize that none of those
things are true, until after the midnight hour.
In dreams, I remember the girl I was,
and the woman I was supposed to be.
All rainbows and unicorns and hope
for a kick-ass maybe someday.
It’s taking even longer to find her;
a 4 a.m. quest through never-ending thrift stores,
lost all over again with the punishing sun.
Each night, I set sail again,
traipse through forests,
get a letter to Hogwarts,
read my just-so story, where my past
Has never happened.
Last night, though,
gratification was instant.
I remembered you,
deep brown with that wilding blaze,
and I held on for dear life,
breathing in your horse-warm smell
as you take me to my lost ones.
“I’ll be home soon,” I whisper,
as the jealous dawn steals love from me.
©2018 Willow Croft
Definition of Wilding from Merriam-Webster: https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/wilding
This poem was based on a dream and got the final gloss of inspiration (in response to) When Women Inspire’s post on January 5 (And, yes, Christy B., it’s typically melancholy! *laugh*).