The infant’s cry of terror is the separation it feels at being born.  My twin was dissolved in my mother’s womb.  She never felt the heaviness of living.  Her spirit walks inside my footprints and I trip on the words she whispers in my ear.  Is my mind too small to contain them? Thoughts too sacred for words hang in the air, unspoken.  I want a new language--one that fills the silent spaces that separate us from the stars. I touched those stars twice but was pulled back into my body--earthbound--a burden on my couch.  At times I am overwhelmed by the weight.



 
Oh lonely, silent clouds adrift in a cold sky
One solitary bird poised against the wind

A life is spent waiting then looking behind
Hope and regret come in equal portions
A hope realized; sometimes an empty present
Regret; a reason to sorrow and be filled
 
Oh lonely, the memory of ephemeral joy
Promise frozen on the catkins of a willow



 L.G. Figgins © 2009