helicopters make me think of war

like a past part of me lived through one. i hear them hovering overhead and add to them the sound of running feet on dusty streets and bombs exploding. voices cry out in words my mind doesn’t understand, but my body does, and it aches to leave, legs tensing preparing for the sprint to false safety, eyes closing against the shattered particles of bone and brick. i part the blinds to watch the glittered hawk overhead, flick the switch to enclose myself in darkness. contrary to what children believe the dark is safer here, where no eyes can see you, and it is easier to be silent. i huddle beneath an abandoned desk, the wood splintered on one side, and cover my skin with discarded paper to disguise myself from the wandering lights.

how long can i wait here? hidden beneath the trash left behind by loved ones. long enough for the light to come again and pretend i live in the now. long enough to forget what i am hiding from, for the night ravens to sweep away and the noise to creep off, for the forgotten war to go into ceasefire, for the children to continue their games.

long enough to forget.

long enough until next time

until the war rumbles in again

until I find myself wrapped in paper words beneath someone else’s furniture, cowering from the past of my soul and lost from the present of my body.

Profile: Kate Miners