At A Loss

In my dreams, you hold a box
but refuse to open it for me.
“Why?” I always ask.
You never answer.
Instead, you ball your hands
into fists. Rage burns crimson
on your face. And you scream –

You scream about the shattered glass,
the unseen army
marching towards you, and all of the things
you shouldn’t want
but will have anyway.
You scream about the yesterday that’s gone,
the hell that is today,
and the boat to tomorrow
that you no longer want to board.

You scream into the wild and inside
my head, begging,
choking on tears.
I reach out to smooth your hair –
you lash out
as if to strike me.
A lesson learned again: I must
keep my hands and words
to myself
as you carry on.
What else can I do when
the help I offer is like
crumpled paper
you’ll only throw away?

Eventually you sulk away
and leave the box on the ground.
I wait, and as you disappear
into the horizon, a thread in me
unravels;
I want you, not
the python you’ve become,
to come home – but
even the dreamer in me knows
there’s no boat to yesterday.

At the end of this dream,
I always open the box –
to find it empty.

Sara Letourneau lives in southeastern Massachusetts, where she works as a full-time technical editor and thrives as a full-time music lover, poet, and overall admirer of creativity. Since August 2008, she has also been a freelance reviewer for the Sonic Cathedral webzine, which covers female-fronted rock and metal bands. Sara’s poetry has appeared in Underground Voices and the Curry Arts Journal, as well as the anthology More Great Writing by People You’ve Never Heard Of. Visit Sara’s website/blog at http://saraletourneau.wordpress.com for updates on all of her projects.