Yesterday, I sat in bed, watching
flames lick the television screen and voices cry out
their horrorstricken moans-
Godforbid, they
soundedlikedeath-
and the handsome newscaster spoke unsmilingly,
with a forced solemnness, and I watched him only mouthing the words-
he was pursing his lips and making the perfect O,
when the ghost of my childhood came back to me,
smart in school uniform and tranquil in all that she knew.
(calendered science textbooks splay out glossy pictures
of separated plastic buttons)
and she wavered in the distance, so perfect.
(Terror terror set me free)
the television cried out, and erupted into
dank blackness after the sudden release
of putrid, fiery hell. And girlish sobs surrounded
me- they were sharp and painful, like a
respirator; a gasp of the search for cold air,
(drugged MaryJane with ruffled skirt) .
Then I awoke to sweat and crying
(cliche, cliche) it was all but a dream.
I carefully sunk into the unsaid comfort
of mother's bed, she knew how to protect me,
she knew how to distinguish between ghosts
and memories, safety and sanctuary.
Ballerina With Fins
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/between-2/
