A Soft Turn


I struggle to find a way

to escape this place

and tell you what I feel,

what I think,

who I am.


Locked away

in this child’s prison

I have long out grown.


The rags

of a once proud flag

hang in the courtyard,

colors faded,

but there is no question

what it signifies.


Even in its current

state of decrepitude

it still shows

which way the wind is blowing.


Maybe that’s what this is?

Every word of it.

a chance to stitch back together

an identity

for myself,

out of torn scraps,

and know for myself

the right direction.


You gave me every gift

and brought me every joy,

but those days all became


just like you did.


From my cage,

I can see the world

is changing.

Rain soaks the ground

in odd seasons

and that tattered flag

gets whipped by the winds

more often than it used to.


I, in my prison

and you

in the infinite.


I’ve convinced myself

that if I try the door,

it will be open,

and that thought scares me,

perhaps more than finding it locked.


That I may have made this prison

one of choice,

is too terrible

to contemplate.


That old flag

in the courtyard

needs some mending,

and God knows,

I need some mending, too.


I look at the door,

considering it,

like a dragon

that needs slaying,

but I am no knight.


I reach for the door,

breathing slowly,

heart pounding in my chest.

My hand touches the latch

and it give it

a soft turn.



HG – 2020

Leave a Reply