We write for different reasons. Sometimes that reason is to inform, sometimes it is to express an opinion, sometimes it is for healing. Today I am featuring a guest post by a poet who has not yet ventured into the blog sphere. This poet has a need–to see her past in print, to let it linger in her heart for a moment and then to release it so she can live more fully live in the present. Sometimes we just have to shake out our emotional reserves to allow the sun to shine once again.
I welcome Ginger to Writing on the Sun.
“A Forlorn Bride”
The night sky peeks through the tiny hole in the tent covering my head.
I can’t breathe. I panic, frantically clawing at the canvas,
tearing it open to reveal the black night sky, dotted with stars.
I awake and as the nightmare ends, the guilt settles over me yet again.
Where is he? Is he all right?
Does he have someone to love him?
Someone to hold him?
To return his deep affection and tenderness?
Is he happy?
Does he hate me?
I know as I write this that he is not capable of that.
He’s entitled, but he doesn’t hate.
Someday I will know.
I made a mistake. Simple to say… difficult to accept.
I made my choice—I confused infatuation with love.
Now I feel neither.
The door swings both ways, they said.
I don’t believe them. They don’t mean it.
I made a mistake, and now it’s too late.
She said I made my bed, now I must lie in it.
It’s true. I know that.
The mailman calls to me as I walk along our street.
“You got a letter today” he says.
I hear my name and turn.
“Come with us”, his parents say.
“Time for R and R. Buy a plane ticket and come with us. Please.”
I see the tears in her eyes, and his sad smile, but it was too late.
I imagine his hands,
his arms around me.
Too late for me. It’s over.
The life I chose is starting soon
and I am sad.
The past will haunt me always.