Those shouts engulfed me,
Engulfed me in
a thunderous silence. Deafening years of
shrouded sheltered silence.
Whom did those voices belong to?
What were their accusations? Their demands?
It wasn’t the peaceful kind of silence.

Instead, they told me to labor
Until my hands were tattooed.
Until I became a hunchback.
Until I folded into darkness.
Until
Until
Until…..
The forgotten fragments of myself were scattered and forlorn.

Now I must dig.

Dig these deep holes in this dry forsaken earth
to uncover the pieces –
the pieces of myself.

Do not question your elder.
But I am an elder.
Do not question me.
But if you are wrong?
You shall never know,
Because I am an elder.

I will walk by a mirror tomorrow
and spot myself. Or maybe it will be someone
else that just looks like
myself.
I will want to say hello
and ask that person who they are, but
by then, I will be
an elder.

My reflection will reflect all these uncovered fragments – these
floating fragments.
Will I inventory them?
Will I be able to grasp them, recognize them?
Will others remain swirling like devout dervishes?
Perhaps they will resume their suffocating hibernation
content to be historical artifacts
and words for a fictional memoir?

Photo by Darius Bashar on Unsplash