"She left the city as a girl
And returned a woman
In the same shoes
On the same night.
A face in the darkness;
The reaper glimpsed
At journey's end.
He straddles the bridge
Between tonight and tomorrow--
He's a revolver with
One bullet missing
From the chamber;
He's the Wheel of Fortune
With its terms unwritten;
He's an unsigned DNR notice.
He's the end of the line."
...Now, here, I stand,
miles ahead,
on disconnecting tracks,
a once-raging fire,
slowly fading,
to a silver smoke...
Wondering,
...where did you go?
Have your own wolfish eyes,
peered into glassy irises
that even, in the silences,
reminded you,
of mine?
What existed, in me
that you let me, survive?
Mister, oh, please, let,
me in on your secret...
and tell me, now, do you regret ...
how you kept me... alive...?
Today is an anniversary, of sorts. An event which transpired and then didn't, at 19 years of age. I am double that age, now, and I still wonder what made him so enamored with me, that he let me go. And did I even deserve it...?
The first half is a poem I unburied, from my lost collection of 2015 drafts. The second part is me reflecting on that, it's disjointed and pulled out of place, with a purpose: I'm not 2015 Kate, anymore.
