Americana: I Never Said Good-bye

Just a kid playing in her bedroom,
Surrounded by dolls and books,
Listening to the Grown Ups
Laughing and Reminiscing
In the Family Room.

When they call for supper,
I leave my private oasis
And journey into the kitchen
To enjoy the fruits of labor
To which I never contributed.

But, oh, how I enjoyed the company!
The stories, the laughter, the joy;
These were survivor stories,
These were people whose Faith
Had carried them through dark streets.

And I would grin widely, cramming
A last biscuit or piece of toast
Into my mouth before I excused
Myself and left for the comfort
Of my own universe.

Still, I could hear them, their voices
Ricocheting off of interior walls,
Walls where family photos and
Mirrors and cande-sticks made us
Believe we were LIVING a good life!

Somehow, absorbed in my room,
I failed to notice when they all departed;
When the laughter finally died out
And silence sat like a heavy load
On empty furniture.

"Where had they gone?" I wondered,
With a sense of growing desperation
When I called and no one answered.
"Mom?" I whispered. And again.
Not a sound. Not a movement.

"Mom..." I said frantically,
Leaving dolls and dreams,
Racing into the hallway
Where all the photos had been.
They were missing.

This wasn't my house! Not really!
Though I recognized what was left
To be something of mine,
I couldn't see the rest of them.
They weren't here.

I looked for empty cups and mess
But that, too, was just a memory.
There was nothing left here now.
Nothing that I remembered.
"Where are you, Momma?" I cried.

Collapsing in a chair in the eerily
Quiet living room, I resist
The inclination to panick.
My heart, my body, my muscles
Seizing at the Realization:

They're gone. It's all gone.
Everything that really mattered to me:
Love and laughter, family, faith.
If I close my eyes, I can still see it.
Now all a distant memory.

"I never said good-bye."