Daylight, Be My Nightlight
My childhood as I can remember it. The once a day, once away, school and things
such as my father cooking me breakfast before I leave. On shoes, on jacket, on hat, and I opened the door each
morning.
Outside is an oil painting. Still with sound. A chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp
from an unknown bird. "Show yourself bird!" who keeps well hidden inside the this-and-that-way brush
strokes of leaves. The road is divided by the yellow line, and the road divides the trees into two halves, the
houses divide the forest even further. A simple plan for nature, something that seemed so vast.
Now it's the march of the sleepless army, an eye crusted bundled up group,
silent from overnight heavy dreams. An unrealized path worn from daily tread. We are a rag tag gathering of waiting
preparing for the hydraulic hiss and snort of the approaching bus. Taking us to our own form of prison camp, the
weight of our packs is the weight of our future. Freedom. A tank.
A rank and file desk order. The bell that rings and the teacher who shuts the door to the classroom. Shouts "here!
here!" and information open your books to chalkboards with the neat white cursive. I like the yellow chalk
better. It ropes in my mental thought bird that had just flown out the window to recess at noon. It's playing wrestle
mania in the super special cage match with Jason. The monkey bar cage separates us from our adoring fans. Roaring
we come out victorious as the ding ding bell carries us to our reality.
Three o'clock and I'm free for another night. Plans are made for the weekend
sleepover extended wrestle mania match. Spit, snort, the bus drops me off running the path I had trudged just that
morning. The warm afternoon air streamlines my body as I sail into my house, making sure to close the kitchen door
behind me.
Before bed. I watch my fish glide smoothly through liquid. Their bright skin
scaly is reflected from the florescent sun. Sometimes I'll catch them eye-to-eye and guilt swells in my belly,
I want to build a tank as big as the house. They bump their beaks against the mirrored sides, wondering why they
can't get any farther. With the daily cycle complete, the flakes of food descend like leaves, and I click off their
sun.
In bed with my hands behind my head. The furnace whir makes a constant white
noise atmosphere so pleasant. Somewhere in that purgatory pre-sleep my body disappears. I then imagine swimming
in the pitch black that engulfs me, occasionally bumping into the walls of my room. Freedom. A tank. |
