I think about my mother pinned down by her husband. Unable to live. Forced to live his life instead: One without air, or beauty or love.
I think about my sister who in seven weeks will have a child. She has had no childhood. Now she drinks and inhales twenty-a-day, Desperately trying to find something without the aid of the means she was always denied.
I consider my father who is old now and constantly attacked by depleting health We know so little of each other And there is little time left, but he was once stone to me. Discovering the life in him makes death seem more apparent.
Then I consider her -truthfully she is always there. The one who saw and felt the real me, who she can no longer trust. The one I want to curl up with, to laugh with, to breathe with to cry with and to dance with. But she is somewhere else with someone else, rediscovering all of the above.
It’s now 10:02am and I stare blankly and wantingly into better days from this cage; Hoping, but never expecting to be let out soon.