Fyn's 21 Days of Poetry

Pale Blue Ribbons

Mind wanders back through the years,
Back to another time,
One hidden away,
far away from the here and now.
To memories best locked away,
Thrown away,
But they recycle now and again.
Who knew a prompt would blast the door open
And let the refuse spill out,
Bringing the garbage out in to the open areas of my brain
The stinking, rotted, decayed remains of choices
Compounded by directives and finally, chosen by survival instincts.
To watch the unthinkable happen and do nothing,
To see life draining away, puddling in the cracked pavement,
Kerosene oils drawing iridescent patterns-
Rainbows overwhelmed by red.
Details that stain memory cannot be washed away.
You cannot bleach the truth.

Truth.

Truth wears many masks.
Each version of the truth
Wears a different mask.
But the eyes,
The eyes are same, regardless
And the eyes see one truth only—
Over and over again-

Seared into grey matter
And it really doesn’t matter
That there was nothing I could do,
Even though what I didn’t do
Mattered in the long run.
Put them away for the long run
And it matters that they now
Rot and decay, the garbage that they are.

Ten year old child held to guarantee a mother’s silence-
She, torn between her husband’s wants and a mother’s needs.
Silence reverberated as bullets made a final decision.
My daughters never again wore pale blue ribbons in their hair.





Prompt for March 9th (Must be posted by 10 PM)
Subject: Witness to a Murder
Word(s) to use: kerosene
Word(s) not to use: witness, murder, gun, knife, blood, police