Inside me there are bones,
Forgotten, taken
For granted, my humanness—the epiphenomenon of thought
Is stuffed inside
This body,
This blood.
Was there original glory
Before original sin?
The curse of creation and the roller coaster ride—
I am East of Eden, wandering,
Trying to remember, trying to understand
My parents, known and unknown.
I want assurances
I will not suffer.
But suffer I do
And suffer I will
Memories, dreams and heartache,
The empty road, the barren hill,
My passion, my body, my blood.
I dreamt the other night
That we were still a “we,”
That we were not through,
That times were rough but there was hope,
The possibility of repentance and forgiveness—
A glimmer.
I awoke to the sound of my heart beat,
Surrounded by darkness and dust.
Nothing else remained.