The tunes of many nights ago
cut through her monotone brain.
She held
them to her
chest,
reminders of freedom
and present pain.
There were glimmers of outside one day,
nothing but darkness
running her down the next.
Time ran through each other,
no hour
any more meaningful
than the rest.
It was a while
coming before she saw
the truth,
holding in imaginary breath.
How long has it been?
she'd asked dead air,
fingering yellow pearls
'round her thin brown neck.
Maybe it was a year, surely not ten,
otherwise her chances
would surely be wrecked.
She knew there was something
keeping them from her touch.
This space was oppressive,
blocking her
from sunlight,
just obscure memories
she treasured
and clutched
Faint melody
heard by no one
except
dead ears
haunted her
like she did
vacant,
decayed rooms.
Her remains
of blood
and trauma
lingered 'round
like a bitter,
ancient
perfume.
It was ages and eternity
in one blink of an eye.
The sound,
that musical memory,
would not depart this spirit
no matter how she tried.
She still saw the night in her mind
could almost smell the blood,
see the child,
the top of her dark head.
She was a beautiful girl,
her life's work.
Masterpiece.
But she felt so tired then,
and wanted just a small rest
as the sheets became wetter,
redder,
in her bed.
The child was placed in her arms
by the midwife,
her face wet with tears.
The child's tiny eyes locked on her mama,
and the room was filled
with the weeping family's
fear.
She still felt the warmth of her child
when she died and woke up here.
Alone,
she spent her time
waiting her family's return,
civilization ebbed and flowed
outside her window
as she played old piano keys
and mournfully yearned.
A century later
she still roams
changed spaces,
trapped in her love;
in her mind,
a melody that continuously plays.
Reality is unknown to her.
Time is delayed.
One day
she knows she'll see
that baby again,
her masterpiece.
One day she knows they'll
be together
and finally
know peace.
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