Deluge
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Light peers through a seemingly open window.
I am alone in this room, a box with a shelf or two
Where I sit pensively
Perhaps on the second shelf,
I can see the rocky shore of Monterey, my father’s colorful rose garden,
Memories are suddenly flooding
As a deluge before my eyes, that
Could have been a hurricane,
I never wept, I only left the day
That he passed away-
Nothing real ever mattered, not the sun rising
Up from behind the cragged mountains,
Food for thought,
Mother’s car parked outside our home…
If I were to peer underneath my bed maybe four decades past or nearly so,
I may remember a weathered tan attaché case filled with dreams,
Hidden dreams, from the rest of the world, it was, although, its name
I don’t remember,
Only stories of my pet rock which also had a name-
I have forgotten,
Its life’s story written in old English, my own version, of course.
I trusted no one except my teacher –Goddess, of course.
Beneath piles of scrap paper scribbled upon with words only known to me,
Little plastic boxes with cutout pictures of my teacher,
Or some of my better grades, they were my relics-
Oh the faith I had in her, and I would kiss the little plastic relic-boxes ever so fervently.
Adjacent to that weathered attaché case lay so haphazardly, the map of my inner space,
Its name I also have for gotten,
Although I do recall a large sheet of poster board,
If I were to look beneath my bed,
In actuality this was my mother and father’s bed-
Before they passed away so many years ago-
All I may find is an aqua blue photo album blanketed with dust, cobwebs, and
The pieces of some unassembled storage bin…
I hear the waves crashing upon the rocky cliffs outside and the rain is falling hard,
It could have been a deluge of tears, or perhaps
Another hurricane,
Tears never cried for mother and father, just for me
And all two hundred of my friends I shared my world with-
All of them female and fourteen years old as I,
Living happily ever after in this magical, phantasmal world,
Mapped out so eloquently upon that sheet of white poster board-
Someone came and took it all away, even the tan and weathered attaché case,
It could have been me who burned it the night I threatened arson and
They came and took me away-
Another deluge of tears, or perhaps a stronger hurricane, for
I look beneath that bed- now mine,
Everything is gone, except for the photo album, and the unassembled storage bin-
And sadder still, nothing is left except-
Except for reality?
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Claudia Krizay
