Amnesia in Retrograde

 

Amnesia in Retrograde

Daylight makes me
a shadow on the wall
unseen and unheard, except
by rote.
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*). 

https://whenwomeninspire.com/2018/01/05/want-change-about-you-job-health/

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thieves of Totality

 

Thieves of Totality

All I have are thieves.

Thieves of time.

Of space.

And captured in the nostalgia

for past selves

or selves I never was.

artist

dreamer

world-changer

lover and

loved.

Those things,

lost among the ruins,

even those are fading to black,

yet

they still whisper to me,

crazy,

worthless,

and so many more judgments.

All the things I was not, yet

they have convinced me it’s

too late to do anything

except wait for the totality of silence.

 

–Willow Croft