Far from home, I followed my new
Got up early, watched the sun rise over the massive sea.
Incredulous, speechless, animated in my loss for words.
A tried and true west coaster, the sun always set on the ocean,
not rose.
II
Three years later, college paths worn divergently,
she appeared late one long, dark night of the soul.
Shattered mirror left in her room,
bloodied fist at the end of her sleeve,
she huddled in the corner as incestuous specters captivated her.
Lovingly, by candle flicker, I sketched her that night.
Her arms, legs a barricade against internal onslaught,
angles of contortion drawing me in.
I asked permission, but have always wondered:
her mouthed yes was hardly full consent.
III
Decades later I do not know her, though that night inhabits me.
I wish I could walk this
another east coast sunrise blowing my mind.
Every so often I toy with the idea of modern serendipity:
irregular Google searches never yield enough clues to find her.
Her name so common,
like her tormented history,
like this lesson, over and over,
of loss, longing, learning:
looking to light.
(cc) Karen G. Johnston
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