Return

The sky is grey.

Clouds move too slowly.

This is what it is to be lost.

A labyrinth of branches blur my vision.

I lay upon a bed of shredded bark,

staring at naked trunks that weep.

This is what it is to be free.

My thoughts pierced

by the screeching white-winged devils

circling overhead.

Or perhaps they’re angels?

Eucalyptus thick in the hot, dry air,

and I wonder how long it will be

before the red earth takes me,

before this rancid flesh

and these broken bones

return to the mother.

Truth is,

I was never really lost.

Not out here.

Not in the protection

of her nurturing bosom.

I was simply finding my way back,

shedding layers of rotting flesh,

letting go of all the lies,

remembering all that was kept hidden.

Remembering me.