Eight

Artwork by~ Gabriel Moreno

Eight

I was taken back to when I was eight years old. 

I am sitting now 
tall and strong...

you would never know...

I don't want to imagine an eight year old girl. 

I squeeze my eyes tight, 

so tightly that sparks of silver shatter the darkness, 

and my breath becomes so ragged that I can't find an end or a beginning. 

I open my eyes and focus on the spinning fan above me. 

I tell myself I'm safe. 

Over and over 
until I am here once again. 

She is tiny, 
 small and afraid. 

Her eyes are large, 
dark pools of fear. 

I don't want to touch her. 

I step away, 
away, 
away...

When I find my way back into my breath, 

my ribs are tired and sore. 

I'm not sure where I am, 

so I rub my fingers together until I can find my way into the room. 

My head is tingling, 

purple lights throbbing from the center of my forehead, 

out beyond my entire being, 

so alive, 

my limbs quivering with each exhale.  

I'm afraid to touch her, 

but your voice tells me to pick her up, 

so tentively I reach out. 

I'm sorry...

I'm sorry...

I'm sorry...

I repeat. 

Tears begin to fall, 

and I swallow deeply. 

I hold her for a moment, 

and then I let her go...

Angela Minard 2014©