She glanced back at nature’s tapestry,
that’s what her mom called this place.
All she saw were barren fields
and dilapidated electric poles.
She daydreamed of walking
those old rusted wires
all the way to some concrete
circus, slacklining like a ballerina
on a tightrope. Her mother warned
her about wasting time. Big city
dreams are like candles in the sky,
she’d say, they’ll dim over time.
Still, possibilities impregnated
her hopes. As the bus pulled
away from her childhood,
she felt free, unobstructed.
Her curious eyes soon blended
into a sea of lights where the voices
of empty counselors mutually
became blended with her own.
And hours passed into days
and days into years,
and soon it seemed a lifetime –
an epoch of lost ambitions.
Her milk and honey imaginings
became stained by her own blood.
The madness of life had splintered
her soul and Hope’s labor
* * *
She reminisced in the foul-smelling
metal box before it stopped. Decades
ago she called this place home.
The barren fields once promised
to yield fruit too – ghosts of dead
dreams remained. Still,
there was comfort in simplicity,
she thought. Retrospective.
Free and unobstructed.