The back steps in a photograph
hold memories in each wooden plank.
I feel the vibrations of a hundred yesterdays
climb nearly forgotten to reach
a battered screen door where hands
opened and closed years of temporary
with the emphatic hope of escape.
Sitting in the future I listen
to ghosts roaming rooms
I can’t enter and sing
a survival song to the little girl
who still carries the pain of silence.
Quietly I speak,
“I made it to the end of dust.
You are free to go where
the wind doesn’t carry tears.”
Smiling, I look up at the stars
to let imagination watch
the child dancing on a wish.
©Susie Clevenger 2015