What was it I came hereto remember? I have been standing on this spot for three days and three nights, waiting. The sun pounded me to my knees, the heat enough to steam me open. At night the moon shakes me and my teeth rattle. I won’t quit though won’t leave here without seeing. What was it that I came here to remember? I have seen with my own eyes visions I know they are true. Last night my grandfather came. He didn’t say anything just took my measure and was gone. He never ever quit on anything. Tough. Me too. Maybe you can only see once everything shimmers and fades? Maybe that’s when you can see what hasn’t happened yet?
© Patrick O’Neill 2010. All rights reserved