Unwinding, rewinding,
going back and back.
When does it stop?
I just want my head
and my feet aligned
moving forward
but I’m lost
on the shore’s rocks
in the stairwells
the fluorescent lights
in the dark room
the womb room in the white rooms
the cocoon rooms in the rooms I remember
in dreams I’ve abandoned
and return across a quarter century
not knowing why. What a mess they are.
Is it enough to name the damage
or must I feel it all again?
Stymied by echoes
of footsteps that might
or might not be mine,
I’m carrying less
but keep covering
the same terrain.