Memory of Earth.

I remember the earth.
Being held down against it,
pressed down against it.
I remember the earth.
Grit against my bare thighs.
When turned over,
the earth and grit against my face.
I remember the earth.
It was cool against my skin.
The air was hot, but the earth was cool.
I remember the earth...

For years, I think I hid in the earth.
I buried myself there,
drowning in brown, heavy safety.
I put my memories there...
as if, somehow,
being pressed against the earth
while it happened,
somehow leached the memories away from my mind
into the ground.

It was safer to hide.

It was safer in the earth...
to bury myself there,
let the earth take the memories away.
But somewhere along the line,
I began to drown.
I dug so deep into the earth it collapsed
behind me.
I suffocated.

I was being buried alive by the memories I tried to kill.

I had to dig free.
I had to climb out, climb away,
free, into the open air.

I had to face the memories.

And now I am free.
I no longer hide in the earth.
I am afraid, out here.
Out in the open, where everyone can see.
Where I can't hide, and bury myself away.
I am afraid.

But I am free.
So maybe, one day,
when the open breathing openess no longer terrifies me,
maybe someday I'll carefully wrap my memories,
cover them gently with healing,
and bury them back in the ground where they were born,
where they belong.
But this time I won't go with them,
I won't be buried alive.
I'll bury the memories.

And maybe a flower will grow.

-darkpage, April 1998

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