Passage
Standing still in the archway between
the yellow room and
the gray room:
The pasts hits me
from behind like
malicious gusts of wind from the ocean
They’re dead.
I realize
Breaking free from that briny wind is painful
it finds its way into scars and wounds
but I stand firm
The dead can stay where they are.
The living
are full of blissful tears
walking unfettered toward futures
The Bottom Shelf Review 