Life is linear,
the tide untied,
unknotted,
unbound,
yet my handmade memories collide and waver
like a hijacked spiral staircase,
an unequivocally erratic
runaway elevator,
floating, descending,
stuck between floors,
a helixed crooked corkscrew
releasing shadows
as ephemeral
as pungent waves of ocean breeze.
There was a time,
my sanguine voice was as sultry
as the sun
undressing wildflowers.
Once upon a time,
I rested beneath an unserrated sky
that felt as free
as uncaged,
carousing clouds
and unhinged,
indented stars.
Unwilted sunflowers,
unbuttoned clouds,
unresolved resolutions.
What did I know of life back then?
Now I only dream of yesterday
as I run for cover
from the burning rain.
© Connie Song 2021. All Rights Reserved.
