The Line

No one around me sees it.
I cannot touch it, and my dreams erase it.
Quiet,soft and straight, it divides us.


Can you see me, I wonder as I pray at night?
Do you think of me, like I think of you?

The line is there, I see it all the time.
I take great care not to step across,
when I do at night while I sleep
the nausea quickly pulls me back
by the morning's warming light.

Do you have to take care too,
not to step across, does it leave you
sorrowful and dazed?
I hear you leave, fading shapes, brittle on the breeze.

The line dividing us into two worlds,
the realm of breath, and the realm of sky
the heartbeat of time keeping us apart.

No one around me knows about the line.
Its chalk outline never fades in the rain or heat,
as I hear the four of you stepping softly to its edge.

Father, mother, sister, sister
holding hands in dance of mime,
words no longer voiced, you step without shadows
as I watch and remember your place erased in space and time.

A music box with a rusted spring, the memory of you
reaches me through strained eyes,
a tune no one hears but me, as I dance by the line
that keeps us strangers who once were strong and one. 

Trudi Ralston.
May 15th, 2015.