Déjà vu
The rich golden meadow
Glistens with crystal beads from the nights sweat, which
Cling to my desiccated shoes like a newborn grasps the finger of her Mother.
Or, perhaps like chunky peanut butter in curly locks.
And there she is.
What are you doing here?
Driftwood lips land stranded on the sandy beach.
Thirsty for the salty water of the ocean, they part thinly upon my presence.
Wild grey stallion eyes devour their foal and,
Gallop with defiance, as any free beast should.
She buries herself, remaining unseen, as
Delicate, muddied raindrops of an acid shower cascade down a weathered cheek.
And delusions,vibrant with the crimsons of anger.
And those eyes, diluted with molten marble fuming from bygones.
And the past is the present, and her future is the past.
But present is nothing but an unwanted gift, anyway.
She had a dream once… No, many times!
But dreams are often had to be broken.
So, she envisioned another, which became her life, and
Now she dreams of living.
The wind wisps between two worlds, twirling carelessly amongst them.
It speaks to her, whispering stories of her past and
Mine, hints at rumors and words of gossip and fantasies that must be true.
I don’t speak the language of the Wind, a dialect as old as Father Time.
But she interprets for me, incidents I cannot recollect and oh,
My! What a delightful day! What a striking sun, and
How the autumn air cools my skin! Do I have my homework? I should
Probably get her something to eat, but wait…
What are you doing here?
I won’t go back.
It took me two days to walk here, and I am not going back
Stephanie Nguyen
Stephanie Nguyen EN102-006
