Note to Self

By Silver Spun Sand
Mon, 04 Aug 2014
- 1167 reads
4 comments
As is her way, she knocks on my open door,
this woman of the world, but, not even she has the answer.
“What’s the point?” I ask. “I’m all in. Up to here
with the pain...methadone, morphine, and the like.”
After twenty years, I’ve had enough.
I’m through with fighting.
She whispers, “Something tells me you’ll be out of here, soon,”
as she dries my tears and hers on her sleeve. “There is a better place.”
Down to me...my call, as to where, and when that will be.
I thumb through a book on the table by my bed; a guide
to Madagascar; a place she and I had planned to visit
in April of next year.
It falls open at a picture of a Baobab tree, of which
we’d often speak...
a magic tree that never dies, but that, one day,
simply ceases to be
and inside its trunk I climb...live forever and forever…
until she comes by...on the 31st April, her place,
kept warm, beside me.
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Comments
I've only just read this Tina
I've only just read this Tina. Is delicately made - so sad, yet also very comforting. It's one of those poems that's left a feeling that will last me the day.
Bee
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I was so fascinated by your
Permalink Submitted by skinner_jennifer on
I was so fascinated by your account of your poem, that it was just as interesting as the poem itself. I've certainly learnt something new that I had no idea about.
Thank you for sharing this piece Tina.
Jenny. ![]()
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