At the intersection of what-the-hell-happened
and why-the-hell-did-it happen to me
but there are no answers on the map of my life.
Speeding through the mean streets,
I’m pursued by the shadows of life and death,
outrunning the fear that tears will flood the street
of my existence and stop me in my tracks,
frozen, paralyzed, sliding into a spin from which
I may not recover.
I step on the gas,
flooring it, clicking on fast forward
til all I see is the blur of lights and people
like flickers on film, quasi-hallucinations
that cannot touch me.
The spot where “I am here” is a moving
target heading for somewhere
between I am not here and I will not be there.
The dot that is me faded a long time ago,
No GPS can tell me the direction to the person I’ve lost.
(c) Sula Milrick
(aka the author between the immovable and uncomfortable who finds herself often stuck between a rock and a hard spot)