Then and Now

The room folds into a mysticism of
creek water thrum and runs on the far
side of my grandparents yard. Song
drifts up fairy notes from dandelions
enters the open panes. I am immersed
feet propped on the window seat with
Jane Eyre clutched in my tween hands.
An ungentle story with no insulation for
childish romance. Drugs never quite wear
off and I have these flashbacks now in my
sloping middle age. Those forgotten friends
or what I think of as friends keeps me up
midnights retelling those same stories
Ivanhoe and senseless insensibility like
honey moving through my angry heart.
I would give anything to forget you but
I'm stuck on the moors with Heathcliff.
Tomorrow I will go walk the yard right
up to the edge and peer through the
chain links at everything growing there
dandelions included. No aria can be
heard here and the only answer for
Can You Forgive Her is a resolute no.