after a line by Aleathia Drehmer

She looked on while one

cracked the eggs and

measured flour, and one tucked

candles into buttercream to light,

and then they sang for me—

daughter, daughter, wife.

I felt full without a bite.

Was 40 like this for you,

all those decades before?

Your wife and your son (my father

who fathered two in turn),

gathered about a glowing cake.

1964. Your chickens would have

given the eggs, your cows the cream.

You a farmer who had

come home from war,

married, raised my father, tilled

land many miles from here.

You are buried, now,

many miles from here.

I think of you anyway, how you always

touched the ground: feet planted or

hands in earth, solid and knowing,

certain of what you grew.

I do,

I do think about you.

In parking lots

in grocery lines

in coffee shops

in dinning halls

in podium stands

in traffic jams.

During long exams

during long rides

during warm hugs

during cold stares

during painful sweat

during cheerful tears.

I still find you in the warmth of my bed,

in the spilling of the milk.

I haven't forgotten you,

I swore I never would, and

I mean to be a woman of word.

So dear little me,

I'm making this for you.

I'll make our dreams come true.

What is tomorrow? May I ever know

What is fine is fine day by day

I’ll wake, I’ll go get ready

Be ready, and head to work

I’ll work, work’s fine and all

But it’ll end, and that’ll be all

I’ll clock out, leave and get to the car

I’ll turn in on, turn my music on

And drive off reflecting and pondering

What is tomorrow? May I ever know

What is tomorrow? May I ever know

What is fine is fine day by day

When I arrive, I’ll undo my shoes

Change into different pants and lay loose

Legs land at the foot of my bed

Long past dinner; still hungry, I head

Downstairs to fridge for some bite to eat

Eat some food then it’s back up to see

My parents, older now, laying in bed

Sleeping, sleeping early than late

No chance for me to say goodnight

I head back to my room, whole house is quiet

It’s me now with my thoughts, and I wonder

What is tomorrow? May I ever know

What is tomorrow? May I ever know

What is fine stays fine day by day

But when it’s time to sleep, there is none

And when it’s time for peace, there is none

Every night can only go wrong

Every day can only go as long

As what we stay up for

And as I lay and think of all these things

I realize what’s been the trouble;

My grandfather, weak, two hours away

Laying the same position as I

But weaker, older, more reliant

For him there is only tomorrow, and still he wonders,

“What is tomorrow? May I ever know”

What is tomorrow? May I ever know

What is fine stays fine day by day

But pain. You’ll hear it and know it

But pain on the surface is pain

Pain buried is hardened and often constrained

And woken alive, an unpleasant burden

Especially when in need of sleep

When he’s in need of sleep

I cannot imagine being there

And when I go to visit I scare

He won’t remember what I’m doing there

And when I visit I scare

Someday myself I won’t remember

And these visits aren’t always in person

Instead, when I try to sleep

And when I try to sleep, I wonder

What is tomorrow? May I ever know

Life is being sucked out of me as the days go by.

Memories of your existence replay over and over.

When the baby cries, I cry.

Starvation eats me from the pit of my intestines.

Your life, as well as three others, copied on my fifteen inch screen.

Portrait and horizontal.

Memories of their lives in 4k resolution.

I cry, when the baby cries.

What if one day it’s her reliving my good times.

Will it penetrate her heart as it does mine?

Four years in this chair, I never realized that I can adjust it.

The pain has become part of me.

The feeling of discomfort is part of me.

My back carries the pain of the ones who grieve.

My posture is no longer poise.

When the baby cries,

I cry.

The scent of her innocence keeps me alive.

A new frame to work on while she closes her sweet eyes.

I remember a time when I knew not of this trait.

Just like everyone else, waiting to see.

But now, I recreate the past.

I have the power to make it look happy or sad.

Music notes have the impact that one only experiences in the cinema.

I’m so drained.

I don’t even write anymore.

What was I doing before this?

I can’t even remember.

Stories left unfinished,

Frame left unedited.

Coworkers wondering how I can keep my headphones on for so long.

“just let her work” my boss says.

I cry.

Like a baby.

In this uncomfortable chair,

I'm heavy, and,

I cry.

Nothing left to prove

To myself

Others who judge

Judge a past

In the past

Outdated beliefs and

Worn-out layers of ill-fitting clothing--obsolete uniform

Not defined by my past

But my future

The future's as much

A part of my life

As my past

But the one that's malleable

To discard what's done and bestow a new wardrobe--bespoke and personified

My present is busy

Crossing that line

Minute by minute

Sentiment by sentiment

When my present falls away

My future lands solidly in its place

Any my clothes finally fit--my colors, my path, myself

Up and down

Your heart weighs pounds

Your head is making sounds

It's always loud

Close your eyes

Block out the lies

Run into the night

As if made of light

Up and down

Your head is a cloud

The voices are loud

The worries mound

Then there's no sound

Close your eyes

Try your best to be kind

As you fall apart from the inside

You find out that your heart has lied

Up and down

Don't you dare shout

Your mind fills with doubt

Ug, I really suck at poems but I tried. :) I dunno if it made any sense though.

I lift my face away from my screen

the morning light surprises me

and fills the room

with a eerie comfort

I stumble to the kitchen

swallow my prescribed sanity

I don’t miss the sleep

just like I don’t miss you

no one notices the flowers are wilting

til they fade away

My alarm rings at 6.30

No it's not for me to wake up.

I'm already awake and ready

It's to leave the house.

I make haste and step out

Closing the door behind me.

I take out the white ribbon from my gown pocket.

And tie it around the hairband of one braid.

And do the same for the other.

I plaster my polite smile.

Eyes wrinkling

with the corners of mouth moving.

I make it to the bus stop.

I take a quick glance

Wishing there were no boys of my age or older.

If I notice one I dread my awkward reaction

Sometimes a smile

Sometimes none.

They are thinking I'm arrogant.

Not that I'm at a loss on how to interact.

The crowded CTB stops at the halt

We don't get in.

The people inside are sandwiched to save up money.

A bus of a private company comes.

My heart drops a beat.

The daymare I want to erase comes in a rush.

Just like when I see a middle aged man

Short and fat and dark holding a shopping bag.

The bus comes near.

There are only a few standing.

I sigh silently in relief

And gets on.

But it's after I get off near the school that I relax.

I enter the school where

I'll be myself.

A mere student among a thousands

Who only wishes to be bold.

Only what the chose to see

What the want me to be

What the need

To fill their hearts

The piece that fits the part

Allowing them to be the star

Im just a card board cutout

Nothing more about

No voice to shout

I have nothing to say

Only the ones that fit their way

The rest fall away

I am nothing

But their something

All they can keep sucking

Consuming all

Never seen as a girl

Just something to fulfill their world

Im done

I want to be someone

I need to shine in the sun

Oh so bright

No longer hidden from their sight

Look at me

See

Allow me to be

Set me free