I pass the portal into the land of the forgotten;
loneliness, a morning mist, obscures the day.
It rises to the limbs of trees hung with shreds
of faded lingerie and laddered stockings;
baby clothes and evening gowns rustle
on the ground scraping shoes with broken heels.
A vague tinkling music box melody with missing notes
wafts in, loops an oscillating plinking on the breeze.
The lonely mist watercolors shadowed forms
where sadness softens contours of the left-behind.
I stumble through the deepening fog seeking reasons;
cloaked shapes move past at the periphery of memory.
I hear myself calling, moaning in misery, the mystery’s
a shroud that’s wrapped me alive, wanting, needing.
Beyond these clouds lies my fate in some inky pond
and I advance seeking someone to take my hand.
© Gay Reiser Cannon * 8/7/2012 * All Rights Reserved