The Past

These dreams are like bubbles
Floating on the whims of the winds of the day
Some land in my hair and get tangled there.
I wash them out, try to wash them out,
but they come back like a chronic pain.
The past is a knife cutting the same wound,
and now there is no blood when I am cut.
I have left blood dripping all around me,
you can follow that to find me.
But once it’s dry, will you find me?
Will you see me? Am I invisible?
If the blood trail is gone, am I invisible?
Do you see me? Think of me?

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5 Responses to The Past

  1. Sara v says:

    Wow! Nicely done. Love “the past is a knife cutting the same wound–” Excellent 🙂

  2. brian miller says:

    whew…what a porgression in this…from the dreams and trying to wash them out to the cutting and being unable to bleed or feel it…and fear that when there is no blood you will be fully invisible and them unable to find you….

  3. oh my…do i know invisibility….yes, i absolutely “see” you.

  4. Mary says:

    Oh those questions at the end. Really a moving poem!

  5. ladynyo says:

    Hello! I have missed coming here…but then again, I don’t venture out much lately…but I am so glad I did. This poem is so evocative of pain, of longing….and yes, I understand this issue of invisibility. This ending, I believe….is the most important question for us all.

    Lady Nyo (Jane)

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