Setting out again

I take an old amateurish harp

from under the bed.

I feel the dust dancing around me –

time’s fairies –

and sticking to my finger.

It must have been my great-grandmother's.

Now, it belongs to me—an accident.

The wires crave rust to come eat them.

I reach out for a sheet.

I cannot play it without

(you) following the guidelines.

Now, I just have to follow the dotted line, note after note.

My mind withdraws –

fetal position –

and I see him in front of me.

This makes the distance increase.

Who are you, stranger that I love?

How come you’re here?

The one meant to protect and care for me,

throws words like darts.

They pierce and I cringe.

Your hands are so cold. You look so thin.

Why are you avoiding the mirror,

my friend? Why is your handshake so feeble?

I wish things were like they used to be.

I guess it's too much wishing.

And as he vanishes I see her.

The one who should be someone else.

The one who made me change

Up to a point I was lost and found.

She just made an excuse, mumbled some words,

it's better if..., we'd better stop...

I bowed. I said I agree, you always know what's right

and hugged her,

so that she could not see the tears running down my face.

(They only see what they want.)

Suddenly, I am with them no more.

I feel the warmth and

use my hands to shield my eyes from

a blinding light.

I am the new Elijah!

I did savor the past, feasted on the scraps

they kept throwing me,

like a fucking pigeon.

I climb one step.

I stop to give them a chance to

say goodbye.

Another step, and my soul is peeling off

feelings like dirt.

(but I’m here in my mold?)

I get into this chariot of fire,

softly, gently,

as if it was home.

Where to? the angelic conductor asks

in a firm but melancholy voice.

He sees it as clearly as I do.

To the old me, please.