'Til We Meet Again

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A daughter comes to the realization of creating a world that lingers between her childhood and the present.

Submitted: June 20, 2013

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Submitted: June 20, 2013



'Til We Meet Again

When I woke up the world was pale
Hints of colors, shades and lights
Were almost frozen in my peripheral sight
And every whisper echoed as if space had no end

I felt well rested and ready to move

As I move toward the chipped half open door
The darknened space seemed to grow morbid
And yet even more familiar than before
I touched it

I hoped not to get bitten by a termite

Anticipating a creek, I slowly made room
For my inquisitions to go through
Had I lost a sense? Perhaps it had been flawlessly
Oiled or fixed with brand new hinges. But, that's not like her

Old is the new 'now'

I step through what seems like a portal
If there were a way for your brain to go swimming
I believed that this small travel has permitted a way
Peeking at all the lovely things...this is not my home

All these houses look the same

But the faint sounds of 80's jazz
A reminscent odor of pancakes and bacon
Total serenity surrounded by warming candles
And sheer, flowing drapery from opened windows are nostalgic

This is like her

I step into the arch of the hallway
And glare at the pastel scenery of chairs, doylies, and portraits
A smile creeps across my face
This is so very much like her

Being in her presence is a beautiful wonder

I start out into the livingroom and I feel a warm glow
As I reach to touch her handwoven orange sofa throw
Her hand raises mine to her hip, the other in her palm
My head looking up at her, my barefeet on hers

She dances so divinely

We laugh and waltz around the sofa to the spacious middle
Spins, dips, and lifts make the music come alive
We dance and dance and dance and dance and...
Then the music starts to fade

And the darkness becomes reality

I'm all grown up now and the odors flow pass my nose
The candles no longer light
The sheer curtains no longer sway
But the house itself, remains the same

Once in a while in my mother's home
My childhood replays to dance in darkness to our memories
All is as it was before
'Til her warm glow has to return

...'Til we meet again


-D. Lowbeam


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