I feel time
draped around my shoulders
As if it were real.
As if there were
The time before,
And the time after.
As if, the moments,
All the present moments,
And cloaked me in some false identity.
What will be,
When it’s present.
Memories are woven into the cloak I wear.
Some are gentle, and warm.
Some are angry,
And wish to rub through
The thin skin on my worn-out shoulders.
Some are painful,
Pricking my skin with reminders
That what was, will not be again.
Let me shed the cloak that weighs me down
That hides me from the sun that shines
Let me learn to dance
In this moment and then,
let it go.
Let the warmth of the light
Heal the weight I’ve carried.
The weight of all those moments.
They were never meant to hold me down.
But to teach me, how to let go.
By Deborah E. Dayen