Interlude

Sometimes...

by Susan Abraham

I may turn around the clock to a time that I imagined when I was little, when the hour forgot to move but held me in its midst, to embrace me on the brightside. Then lost in the beautitude of its sumo arms, I could not escape but instead faced the chance of a solaced fate.

Sometimes, the past invites me to a remembered dance of the bride. It waits like a stalking shadow, curled and twisted into the corners of the unspoken light. Sometimes, its dark jagged edges may leap at me from behind and shout boo. Or otherwise, it may simply waltz me to the swing of a carress on the side.

Image Credit: Doll Repair Shop