Staring at better days from the cage

It is 9:50 am

I’m no longer tired,

but tired out.


I think about my mother

pinned down by her husband.

Unable to live.

Forced to live his life instead:

One without air,

or beauty

or love.


I think about my sister

who in seven weeks

will have a child.

She has had no childhood.

Now she drinks

and inhales twenty-a-day,

Desperately trying to find something

without the aid of the means

she was always denied.


I consider my father

who is old now

and constantly attacked by depleting health

We know so little of each other

And there is little time left,

but he was once stone to me.

Discovering the life in him

makes death seem more apparent.


Then I consider her

-truthfully she is always there.

The one who saw and felt

the real me, who she can no longer trust.

The one I want to curl up with,

to laugh with, to breathe with

to cry with and to dance with.

But she is somewhere else

with someone else,

rediscovering all of the above.


It’s now 10:02am

and I stare blankly

and wantingly

into better days

from this cage;

Hoping, but never expecting

to be let out soon.  

The End

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