12 January 2011

Her Seasons by Nate Munson

When all was done,
the daughter had nowhere to run.
She sat on the porch in the middle of June.
She laid in the hay as October neared.
She swung on the tire,
    when the snow came in December,
    and then she did it all again.
The girl couldn’t wish for a new world,
    when the old one still captured her memory.
She would cry through the nights,
    hoping someone would hear her sobbing tears,
          but she knew nobody was near.
The stars would shine through the clouds on some nights.
    The clouds always knew how to cover them again.
She wandered the pastures for days upon days,
    upon days.
She crept through the hedgerows,
    as her grandpa had during Overlord.
She would watch the other children play at the park.
She wondered if she hadn’t grown too old to join them.
        Had she?
I wouldn’t have said ‘yes’ if she asked me…
Sometimes the sun would pour down the promise of a shiny day,
    but the girl would always turn the other way,
        where the skies were always grey and dreary.
The daughter was caught in a moment when reality was a nightmare,
    and nightmares were promises of a better time.
Mother might have made her hot cocoa on those nights,
    when she would wake up,
        whimpering in fear of the things,
            that haunted her sleep.
Father would have stood in front of her,
    when the black clothed man,
        came to get her.
The seasons would always change,
    as they always had,
        as they always do,
            as they always will.
    she did not know how to change with them.
Spring was no different than winter,
    and Autumn almost appeared as fiction.
    she continued to just wait,
        for whatever it was,
            she was waiting for.
She would swing on the tire,
    when the snow came in December.
She had laid in the hay,
when October neared.
She slowly faded away,
 on the porch,
 in the middle of June.
When all was done,
    and there had been nowhere,
        for her to run.

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