Pre-Smash

Hoo bebes I been taking a break now for three minutes past way too long. Stuff ain’t moving liked I’d hoped and I ain’t talking about the thunderbox because I been eating plenty lentils. But something done lit a fire under my ass (wife) and I can feel the writing comin on for I hope less than miles in the distance. Dat means I gotta work my way up with some good ole’ fashioned posting, so here’s one for you and you specifically. Enjoy or don’t, I ain’t reading it for you.

 

First Left Turn

 

There is a secret place, at one of my many childhood homes. Down the back, into the maze of lantana vines and prickly pears. First left turn into the tunnel of scrub. If you miss it, you’ll never find it again.

I’m sure I’ve seen it. A ceiling of leaves and flowers, a neon blue creek, a rocky ledge bathed in the light from the water. Cool air and a sweet fragrance. There could have been a boat, though there was nowhere for it to go.

I’ve tried to go back, again and again. Each time I miss that turn and head further into the dark, until I reach the usual spot. A steep grassy ridge down into brown water. Once wild and ugly, now tamed and plain. A kiosk, concrete and screaming children.

I wonder, who tamed this place in me? Who put paths and walls in my dreams? Why can’t I take that first left turn? If I’ve been there, why is it missing from me, and if I haven’t, why is its memory so clear? Why do I long for it, with heart aching and tears welling?

This tangled world I’ve dreamed in for decades. It must have meaning, have purpose. These feelings are too strong to be random, these sights and tastes and smells are too real not to be somewhere.

There is hope in me, in decades repose, I will find this place, this purpose for what I’ve seen. That this longing is the pain that will make the salve sweeter. That once more, in this place, in this dream, would be enough.

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