NOT THERE ANYMORE

NOT THERE ANYMORE

“The ash grove, how graceful, how plainly ‘tis speaking
The wind through it playing has language for me
Whenever the light through its branches is breaking
A host of kind faces is gazing on me

The friends of my childhood again are before me
Each step wakes a memory as freely I roam
With soft whispers laden its leaves rustle o’er me
The ash grove, the ash grove again is my home”

--Part of an old Welsh folk song.

My chair took me there,
As if it had a will of its own,
And my hands and brains had nothing to do with it.
Nothing like in my memory,
Like in my mind,
Like in my body,
Like in the worst of my nightmares.
Nothing like it.
Not there anymore.

It’s a tree and through its green mossy branches sun shines.
Beams playing with my curls,
Lighting my green eyes,
Making diamonds of the tears on my cheeks.
Wind whispering soft soothing sounds,
To my ear, can hardly hear my words,
Can hardly see my hands pleading,
Kneading, my mouth silent,
I am not there anymore.
Not there anymore.

This tree, it is beautiful, majestic.
Look at it, so high and old, seen so much.
Did you see me, tree?
Words tumbling around in my mind,
Speaking to you in my imaginative language,
With my hands gesturing.
Speaking of joint history, tree.
Touching green bark, unruly like I am,
Like I was.
Not there anymore.

Come chair,
Come friend,
Oh please, please!
I have seen enough.
I have heard enough.
I have felt enough.
Take me back home.
Oh please, please!
I am alive now,
I am
Not there anymore.

© Darren White