Post Script


Suddenly you awake, and
the three year old who wondered
what it would be like to wake up old
has been answered.
Your first love no longer holds a place
in the heart you swore would never heal
from the breaking,
and the monsters in the closet,
the alligators under the bed,
have revealed themselves,
and have been shamed into hiding
under some other anxious child’s bed,
though you didn’t mean to send them.

Those who would disappoint you,
have done so,
the husbands and mothers
who would drive you to suicide
are dead, or are at last dead to you.

It’s funny.
The day you feared the most,
the day you realized you were not
going to climb Mount Everest
has come and gone,
and you did not collapse
in a small plume of smoke
of the nothingness
you perceived your life to be,
but rather you got up,
went to work,
came home,
played with your dog,
and made supper.

you seek the cloak of sleep –
your dreams now movies
of people you knew
but did not know, and
the houses where you lived,
and left, roll by in slow motion,
the unfamiliar curtains billowing
in the still wind.

You reach for his hand,
and  he takes it,
mumbling what’s wrong
from his own half-dream,
and suddenly,
for the first time,
the weariness overtakes you
and it feels safe to sleep.

Author: Virginia Wagner Galfo

These are scary times. Prepare yourself to take a stand for what is right. God damn it, just be kind!

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