There’s a note on the door
…(I know what it says)
I wrote it during a dream
Wind rattled the windows
lightning lit the skies,
I looked through the holes
and took flight…
…(clutching the note)…
Bullets graze my skin,
explosions emit
endless screams,
dancing over mud puddles
six feet deep,
stay low to the ground,
…(lower than reality)
death is in the house,
violence infiltrates
every breath,
panic overwhelms,
Will I live?
Will I die?
Do I care?
I clutch the note
tightly to my soul,
don’t stop,
keep moving
I tell myself,
I’m still alive
I’m still alive…
Days pass, scenes shift,
I’m no longer
behind enemy lines
In a small Parisian cafe
chatting with Camus
about guilt and pestilence,
a tattered flag
sways from its cross,
I resist the urge
to get drunk
and celebrate,
Freedom! Liberte!
I bid adieu
to my deceased friend
The note safely tucked
in the right front pocket
of my torn, muddy jeans
A few Euros stashed
in the left front pocket
of my shorn, bloody jeans
Heading down the road
circling back
to my old hometown,
seeking sanctuary
in the safety of memories
I attach the note
to the door
of my youth
hoping, praying
that dreams
can change the truth.
October 2019