She Was Wood - A Poem By OllyOllie

Her shadow at the other side of the room is faint, but visible. Her facial features are missing, my imagination is not wide enough to see…

But I still see faintly, clearly?

First I see a rope, around the neck and falling from the ceiling. I can feel tears in the air, the dampness and the guilt.

Then her hand, overflowed with pills. Red and yellow, red and white, white and blue. 

Then, I see nothing but a silhouette… but her chest isnt heaving. The slight movement of her breasts that indicate that she is breathing is no where in sight.

But the one thing I ask myself each night, when the figure is standing at the side of my room, is who is she? 

Why do I only care of her now? 

Why did I not care when I would see her in the hallway when heading to math? Or when I would run to the swings and she would be talking with her friends by a bench?

I knew her, I knew her presence, but I never knew her…

I only remembered her many years later when our paths met, only to be cut by a hole.

I still hear the echos of the mother, screaming at the ground.

Am I a fraud? 

Because I cry at her thought, but who is she? all that remains of her is the faint memory of her smile and laugh and joy…

I still look at her shadow, and the dampness in the air from her tears. But I can also feel… a release.

And her voice, saying to me “see you next week”. The next week… I saw her, but she was wood. 

For Teyla, whom I miss daily without exception 🕊️