The Others
Now keep close to the small ones, and remember their gentle laughter. I walk in daylight as if I am hunted. I only want to pick you up, and put you in my pocket. You are alive in the dark places, caught between the pale yellow ghosts, just beyond my understanding. Two days ago I saw your face, torn to shred by motor fire. A year ago you were on the news. Three weeks ago, you wore a dress and walked beside me, as I meandered my way into the grocery store. You had that same gentle laughter. Watching you I see all the strength it takes, as you calmly educate the old women, her skin cracking like parchment paper, as she struggles to rearrange neurons. And you give her your strength. Tomorrow you will still be my neighbor, my friend, my lover, and I will buy bread. Or surf the internet until sleep takes me. You will remain in the dark places, caught between the pale yellow ghosts, while Samaria cries herself to sleep.
