Ghosts of my childhood

Ghosts of my childhoodNobody said it would all be all right,
though I do wish someone would have.
Words of security are comforting
even if they are false.

Bright blue eyes watched
but did not see;
small ears listened
but did not hear;
the world came crashing down
but I did not notice.

Soft white snow lay scattered
amongst the barren trees;
ice formed on top of the creek
and over the rocks,
but the beauty was lost
on my young eyes.

There was screaming
and arms flailing
and an argument over who would take the child.

The violence ended that day,
though the fighting never stopped.
Years of being pulled in every which direction,
like medieval torture,
began with one very silent drive.

Staring out through the window,
winter coat zipped up to my neck . . .
I was suffocating,
breath caught in my throat
like a fly in a web . . .
struggling to break free
and escape my lips.

I was closed in with nowhere to go,
four years old and having my first panic attack . . .
sitting in the back seat of my father’s car.

Sometimes I still feel like that child,
still waiting for someone to tell me it’s all going to be okay.

I stare at familiar places
and am haunted by scenic memories.
The rocks still look like mountains . . .
my eyes are still small.

Photo Credit

***This is reworked from a piece I wrote on November 9, 2005.***


4 responses to this post.

  1. Hauntingly beautiful, Dayle. I shared this. Love.


  2. This reminded me of my own childhood. All those feelings in such a young one and they never leave, do they?


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