P.Hill+UFG+Sestinas

Terrors

It started in London one night

I awoke with a scream

searching in the dark,

awake, but still in a dream,

only wanting to sleep,

but believing the lies.

It continued in Paris, at night I would lie,

waiting for night

to fall, to be overtaken by sleep,

but instead awoken with screams.

These not in a dream

but my bedmate instead pleading with me in the night.

I groped in the night

thinking I was somewhere else as I lay,

unable to distinguish life and dream,

throwing blind fists into the staggering dark

hitting the terrified woman whose scream

finally drew me from the prison of sleep.

I never thought that I could fear it, sleep.

Waiting for my body to be taken over in the dark,

screaming.

In bed I lay.

Or so I thought, waking with cuts or bruises in the night,

not understanding how I could be so taken by a dream

Propelled by dreams,

at least, I used to be, but now imprisoned in my sleep,

never knowing, always waiting in the night

to be admonished in the morning for my actions in the dark.

Bludgeoning the beast where my love actually lies,

afflicted by some strange and malignant demon—I wake ever in screams.

Now, permanently scarred and even in daylight, plagued with screaming,

jolting pain, I loathe dreaming,

Lying

to myself that it will one day end and I can just sleep

without fear that the demon in the dark

will take us both in the night…

He, at my hand, and I at my own, awake but asleep.

Uncontrollably falling as I lay dreaming,

never knowing what has happened or what will in the dark, screaming night.

Memories of a Shopping Trip

It happened so fast.

One second we’re together,

laughing, making plans,

the next, I’m following you

to the hospital, my stomach

churning as I await the diagnosis: cancer.

Cancer.

Cancer growing in you faster

than I could ever imagine, invading your stomach.

I waited for you for hours, praying that we could be together

again, irrationally mad that you

wouldn’t be able to follow through with our plans.

Of course, cancer was never part of the plan.

Cancer.

The black cloud over my future and your

role in it. Time sure flew by fast.

I’m almost ready for us to walk down the aisle together.

But will you be there? I cannot escape the sinking feeling in my stomach.

It creeps through me like the tumor in your stomach.

The thought of all of our plans

put indefinitely on hold. But we will fight it together.

I know you’ve already won so many battles in your life, you certainly can’t lose to cancer.

Hold fast,

Daddy, I have faith in you.

That you,

my protector, my provider, will banish this parasite from your stomach.

How the roles have changed too fast.

I never planned

that so early I’d be taking care of you. That cancer

Could forever alter or even eliminate our time together.

Because now I’m unsure how much time we have left together.

Will you

be around to see my milestones? Will the cancer

take root in your bones, your lymph nodes, your stomach

for good? Will you even make it through our plans

tomorrow? I feel like I’m losing you faster, faster.

But each day, as your frail frame thins, your stomach distends and your hair disappears,

The steel in your blue eyes sets, the plan clearer now more than ever:

Wipe away the tears and eradicate the cancer, fast, so we have a little more time together.

Sick

I never thought it would happen to me

always “perfect,” always driven,

always “has it all.”

Well, I am sick.

I’m sick and tired and so close to the edge

I’m starting to think toeing the line is my day job.

At least it would be easier than this job—

pretending everything’s fine with me.

Like the only reason I’m edgy

is because I haven’t slept enough or someone has driven

me crazy for some reason or another. But I am sick.

Pretty, seemingly functional, but well? Not at all.

I don’t know how all

this started but it came to my attention at my job,

basically because I got sick

of doing it. I think people are more willing to give me

breaks, because it’s so unlike me—“she’s always just so driven!”

But it might do more harm than good, not letting me fall, holding me at the edge.

I think the mania is worse for others; edging

into their conversations, taking all

of the attention for granted. Driving

them all insane as if they care about my three jobs,

or anything about me

for that matter. But I don’t’ seem to care or notice—it’s a sickness.

But what makes me most sick

are the days when I can barely edge

myself out of bed, the depression seizing me

like the flu or mono, all

work and chores and even a social life feeling more like a job,

like for anything but being worthless I’ve lost my drive.

The apex was finally driving

off a cliff. Twice. Literally. I felt sick

even thinking about the wreck I made of school, my job,

my life, let alone the poor car. How bad it’s gotten. I drive off the edge

of the road, plummet a hundred feet into nothingness, and all

I can think about is what it’ll cost to fix the car. But not me.

Maybe I’m too broken to fix. All my life I have been driven to this sickness,

all in the pursuit of what? A job I don’t like to pay for a degree for a job I likely won’t get.

The pressure alone is enough to push me over the edge at any given…

To An Unexpected Hero:

I didn’t really have any faith left

when I put my hand

in the water

and you came to me.

I saw your scars

and wondered how, if people like me left those on you, why do you trust?

But trust

you did. You left the safety of the mangrove and risked more scars.

But somehow I think you knew that my scars were at the hand

of my own people, too. You approached me

As a kindred spirit that day in the water.

I’d never seen a manatee; scarily big but so graceful in the water.

staring deep into me with those piercing jet black eyes, trusting

that no matter how close you came to me,

you would be left unharmed,

that only love would guide my hand.

as it felt the roughness of your scars.

But still, I gave you scars.

I didn’t realize, floating there in the water,

as you held my hand

that I betrayed your trust.

For in our brief but powerful encounter, I left

behind the worst of me.

You shouldered my burdens for me.

Selflessly, you lifted my scars

and made them your own until nothing was left.

but mangrove, and sun, and skin, and water.

you took away my pain and entrusted

me with your life in my hands.

You reminded me when you touched my hand

that I had so much more life ahead of me;

that I should trust,

no matter how deep my scars,

and remember that blood is thicker than water

and we all only have such little time left.

Since I left the water that day, I have begun to trust again.

No matter how deep the scars, I cannot let the fear of being

hurt again keep me from having a hand in my own destiny.