Unreality

Walking on a street filled with
lonely people looking downward.
No smiles to be found.

Store window displays staring
back with vacant eyes, like so
many lost souls looking
for a place to belong.

Days racing by like a speeding
train, only stopping long enough
to discharge passengers. Each hour
barely perceptible as they fly by.

Wine drenched memories. Fingernails
digging into flesh. Hair pulled out in
handfuls. The hot breath of doubt
breathing down my neck.

A smile across the face of fear.
At ninety-five miles an hour racing
towards the sun, no one saw it coming,
as the sky opened up to swallow
those left behind. 

Unreality has become real, walking
on a street filled with lonely people looking
downward. No smiles to be found.


Remembering Mom

The smell of bread baking,
and strong laundry soap,
it clung to her like perfume.

Faced scrubbed clean,
hands red and labor rough,
the smile of an angel.

Patchwork apron tied tight
in a neat bow, always humming
that sweet tune as she did.

No one left to call out her name,
she preferred it that way, after
years of neglect and abuse.

She gave all she had to give,
and we took it in turn.
How I miss that dear woman today.

 

 

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ANN CHRISTINE TABAKA IN CONVERSATION

 

I never go anywhere without a notebook and pen.  I have one in my purse, one in my car, and one on my nightstand.

READ FULL CONVERSATION HERE