Poetry

Glimpses

Sometimes I sit outside watching the rays of light trickle down behind the shadow of my house.
The dust gathers in particles and forms shapes, evaporating with the light that makes it visible.
And then I see glimpses of the many lives who touched me that month.
I see the girl with bloody scars and bruises, I hear her voice and her tale about her father who abused her.
I shudder at the boy who touched me and I realize his issues.
I cry for the girl to whom I gave the laxative, enabling her to continue her bulimia.
But then I see Jackie, whom I shared the strongest bond. I remember the last day I saw her.
She cried on my shoulder and said the words I longed to scream to everyone:
I miss it
And suddenly, the crickets begin their moonlight serenade.
And the dust is gone, and the memories have faded.
I think about Jackie and the other young teenagers with whom I shared my pain.
I wonder if they are as lucky as I.