Poem: Fantasy

By: Kimberly Potter Kendrick

mime

Two mimes busy themselves; fabricating a view of the world
Adults chuckle, children giggle
Where the mimes go, people ensue

One mime trapped, an invisible box concocts perplexity
Hands perpetually moving
Sides, top, bottom; no segment neglected
A gap not detected anywhere

Enveloped by pain, hip to toes
Throbbing, aching, sharp zings
My body, my soul, seeking deliverance

No progress, no relief
Lying still
Wishing, praying
Awakened some nights by it’s jolt

Real. It’s too real.
Horrific illusion worse than prison
Wet droplets dampen
Tears, sobs, wails
No imaginary escape
No hatch drawn, no hook to clutch

Exhaustion to slumber
Mimes wipe dry tears
Quickly building an exit
Offering their hands
“Go ahead,” reaching eagerly
Grasping tightly, soaring out of this chamber

An explosion of joy
Skipping, holding hands
Picking exquisite flowers
Frowns transform into smiles
Narrow path leads to sand
Running the minuscule particles threw fingers
Blue water, crystal clear
Warm to wiggling toes
Bright sun shines our way

Pain lives within me
Vicious vines strangling my limbs
Within the room I exist
Off-white walls, four windows, irregular octagon ceiling
Blades of the fan spin constantly
Anguish intensifies the exhibition
Reflecting off the mirror, my eyes horrifically staring
Open wide the door, still I cannot run
Upon my back I lie hour after hour
Days running into one another
Uncertain the passage of time

Oh, if I were a mime, I’d paint rainbows on the ceiling
A wooden bridge to scamper across a pebbly creek
My body twists, jumps, runs, unrestrained
I, too, am shined upon until night sweats drench me

No words spoken, magical enchantment
Mysteriously, mimes revisit
A pathway mimicked, with them I cautiously step
With a silent snap, I’m clothed in black and white, a cap of red
Miniature chest fancied, filled with hope
Crisp white gloves inside, perfect size

A mime I shall be, fashioning my world into fantasy

 

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