Fragmented memories,
like lines written before pages
torn from the diary of my life,
come flooding back to my senses.

 

The prayerful rattle of rosary beads reminds not of rosaries, but something sinister-- a beaded doorway through which someone entered.  

Someone touched me

I react--

not to this touch,

but to a memory

half-forgotten.

 

Someone stands too close to me a sense of panic shoots through me not because of him, but just because...

Fleeting images--
images of pain and confusion
>blaze past through my mind.

Larger than life these images frighten the child within me while angering my own adult.

 

I scream silently

not saying what I remember

not remembering what I should

I reach out,

but no one is there...

So I write
and the hurt becomes deeper. I say nothing and I feel like weeping.

I do nothing--

I am frozen in space.

Nothing begets nothing and the hidden pain lingers on.

---