Drifting in and out of unconscious sleep
In a dreamlike trance waiting to awake
Coming up under the surface of the conversation
Not able to rise and break free from this surreal world
Almost a part of it yet not really
Which side do I belong to?
Hearing, understanding, did I speak?

I hear you speaking of me like you know me well
Were you my husband or my lover?
Without your touch, your words seem all the same
And yet whose gentle fingers touch my brow
Caressing my arm, resting lovingly in my hand
The only one not afraid to speak to me
As if I were already deceased
My loving child stay near

Pronouncements are made, people talking
Words and thoughts strung together
Like clothes on a line waving aimlessly in the breeze
Reminding me of the strangers who once filled them
Or like banners at a country picnic
Bright and colourful yet simply repetitive
Loudly flapping in the wind

When did words become so common
Why are they so casual
Falling from lips in predictable patterns
Where did I leave my true meaning
Is it on a corner table already scribbled
On a notepad filled with epitaphs
Waiting anxiously to be spoken
Only to be forgotten within minutes
What is the simple phrase that I cannot utter
"I am here!" but no one hears me
How did it all come to this
Why are words so important
If no one listens




(C) Copyright August, 1999
Marie St. Onge-Davidson
All Rights Reserved