Poetry: Before We Came to This Place

Before We Came to This Place

by Kathryn Ormosi

Y’know,

I can almost pretend that things are just the way they should be

When I wake up in the morning

I still revel in the last, dreamy bits

of sleep

in that euphoric moment

when the world is fresh

and waiting to be explored again.

Sometimes, I can even make it through breakfast

as the first swallow of coffee

hot and sweet

makes me glad to be alive.

Somewhere around the fifth spoonful of oatmeal

I realize

it tastes like a mouthful of glue.

and that is when

I start to remember.

There will be no exploring, no driving for hours

to find the finest ocean beach

the hidden mountain creek

the tiny yellow flowers in that meadow down south.

I am here.

Captive.

Unless of course, I run the gauntlet

of creatures.

Creatures who, formerly, ate oatmeal

and swallowed great satisfying mouthfuls

of hot coffee and juice and pancakes

around my table.

Creatures who, formerly, smiled

at my indignant reaction

to stories in the newspaper.

Creatures who, formerly, leaned over my kitchen sink

to wash dishes from the last night’s supper.

Of course, then, their eyes were alive with feeling,

for me.

Now they wait outside.

Just watching

for me.

I can’t let them in.

I can’t think about them.

I can’t wish it back.

I can only dream in nightmare worlds

over and over,

of the sweetness

of life

before.