as the curtains are drawn
with a cinematic flourish
I present to you my stage, my
Life
A backwards glance
I am thrown into a
swirling miasma of recollections
where bridges and doorways
keep me
running and bumping into
my self
Bridges that lead me to my self
ropes I impatiently tied with words
of hopes, of dreams, of apologies
I flung across to my self
There, too, were
Doorways I clawed a gazillion times at
so my self could hear
this stranger, a wannabe
guest to this house that is this stage
And then, I realized
Bridges equate to distance
and I wonder if I should
have weaved the rope in another way
interlaced it with other words
or tried a material of a different color
And that
Doorways are dots
and I am the line
my self drawn in a marker
to connect, to make sense
of a lost time
Now
I discover this one portal
of neverending bridges and doors wide open
I wail in pain, in tiredness
As I mouth my wordless thoughts
I bow my head and lay to sleep
beneath a white blanket
with cow shit crowning my head
and riots of flowers around my feet
