fog

Right near my work, there is a sod farm. One of the only farms left in Omaha, and it is under I-80 right near these large corporate buildings which house thousands of people. It offers serenity, peace of mind in a way no man-made lake or fountain can. Some mornings, when I’m driving in, this field is enveloped in fog. And I can’t help but remember when I was.

I remember missing class because I couldn’t get a ride back to my dorm from whichever stranger’s house I had passed out in. Buying CDs I didn’t like but wanted to make myself acquire the taste. Waking up Veteran’s day 2004 and being scared shitless my gut intuition was right – that I really was pregnant.

There were a few moments of clarity when I asked myself what I was doing. But I left those questions unanswered. I didn’t know there was a me – a person who, separated from influences, could stand alone. Once, I was driving home during those gray hours around 5am and thought of myself and if I was happy. And I forced myself to answer. Because I knew if I didn’t, nothing would change.

Not still dark,
not yet light.
Not yet daytime,
not still night.

It’s this blur of between –
this overcast haze,
when I can’t see black or white,
just endless grays.

I question myself.

Then the moon disappears,
the sun takes charge,
and the light blinds
my discontentment.

After the night
darkens the sky
I forget my questions
and live like I have the answers.

It’s not the black,
nor the white:
but those god damn grays
when I resurrect my own fight.
-December 18, 2005