My mind feels like a deck that wasn’t riffled quite right-
The Ace of Spades is here somewhere,
facedown, purposeful, waiting.
Events and images are oddly placed,
inconveniently triggered, questionably true.
Dis-arranged layers with indistinct edges –
the laundry I pile into baskets and forget if it is clean,
dumped out to find a matching sock over and over.
There are gaps, and not just around surgery dates.
These folks that cling to me-I know their handwriting still –
some shard will slip back in at odd moments and prick the veil-
the memories ooze back.
I dream of my mother’s house and panic,
knowing I must wake, struggling to stay asleep
so that I can turn the corner and see her face-
but she stays ahead of me.
I dream of my father as he was, intact but aloof.
Standing, speaking, blue-jean clad, but never facing my way.
On my last visit, he caught my eye and I swore he saw his dream-self there-
I am there but not here he seemed to say.
I ghost through the past and stumble in a clouded present,
and none of it seems real.
I see myself walking ahead as I float above and behind…as I always have.