I sat and listened to the voices
ringing in a haunted castle
some 8 hours west
and felt sullen; my heart
somehow twice removed.
The light was pooling
on the kitchen table
glue in one hand, tiny
beads in the other
working on a masterpiece
for which my vision
was quickly fading
until I heard him telling
stories about finding
his only peace in a parked
car, the lives around him
dying in twisted metal
where many never come
back to thank whatever
gods might have been watching
over their fragile shoulders.
And when he said
he pinched his sleeping
child just to hear him cry
something inside me
broke into a universe
of fractured light. I felt
more alone in the world
than should ever be teased
from this breathing vessel.
There in front of me
with paint splattered in chaos
and encircled like old west wagons
with sparkling children’s beads
I found what I was missing
and understood it was never
something I could hold on to,
never something I could fit
in the palm of my hand.
I told myself to stop trying.
My self
told me, I can’t.
–Aleathia Drehmer
Michele McDannold