Here is the room for living once known,
a place of wild things, wind like
flowers opening, the motion of wide
plains of grasses, the sense of sleep
taken on a mattress pulled through a
loose-hanging door and spread
out on the floor of a wooden deck under
a wide stretch of night sky,
inhabited by intertwined limbs and
serenaded by low whispers
and joyous gasps.
Here once was that place where two
tumbled out a door together and
ripped open the tunnels of time with
their laughter.
Here once the sea-stacks were singing
so softly that even the quiet
stopped to listen.
Here once were promises made without
bondage, where hope and purpose
lived in a sunrise pouring onto a day
like milk on cereal, where the
here-once could not ever become
the never-again.
- Judith Mikesch-McKenzie
Judith Mikesch-McKenzie has traveled much of the world, but writing is her home. A teacher, writer, actor, and producer, she currently lives in Oregon with her family and two cats. She is a wee bit of an Irish curmudgeon, but her friends seem to like that about her.
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