Five hours ago we were chasing rainbows in the cold sun,where rain and our bare feet slapped against the sidewalk. In her mind she keeps all the treasures she misses— not a birthday, not a rag doll, but her mommy and her doggies. She has lined the couch cushions with pretend puppies—what’s real is fake to her, what’s dead lives, where the rain ends she explores the map in her mind, where dreams are caged in the wrinkleless years of Pond’s cold cream and mirrors, this is where she lives, remembering when mirrors were a pleasure vane and I was the one mimicking her every move. At midnight she changes out of her pajamas for a walk to the park in search of dogs that died twenty years ago. There are no dogs.
There are no rainbows. There is only time, the same time, same old time with nothing in between.
Written for: Poetic Bloomings Prose Poetry