Ants At the Symphony 

I am back in my high school town. Although there are no beaches in Martin, TN, I am perched, legs crossed, in front of one. This small beach boasts crystal clear, soft blue water rolling in with a slow, tender tide. I am sitting in an ancient stone colosseum. It is as if it was lifted from a fallen city and placed where it grandly sits now.

I am wearing an elegant black dress, shoulderless and simple. I glance down at my toes, perfectly painted deep blue and tucked inside of toeless, black heels. My hair is coifed and sprayed perfectly in place. I am grandly dressed for the symphony.

I am perched alone on one of the stone benches, closest to the stage which has been set up with the beautiful beach as scenery behind it. On stage is a large orchestra filled primarily with strings.

The music surrounds me. I close my eyes, feeling the soft embrace of the cello and the haunting tears of the violin strings.

Suddenly my right forearm begins to itch. I look down and see a red bump close to my wrist. It looks like I have been bitten by a mosquito. I scratch the bump, and when I do, the skin lifts and ants come scattering out of the hole in droves, covering my wrist and hand.

I panic.

I wake up.

It’s coming out.

Tell Me What You Lost

Tell me what you lost.
I don’t know,
Pictures of smiles
And baby girl bows?

Tell me what you lost.
Everything that made me;
Memories, time lapses
And cultural gaps.

Why do you seek?
Because I got lost;
Erased every time I
Dissociated beyond.

Where are you now?
I am here. Abstract entity.
Infinite infancy. Is there
A simple equation?

Mnemonic roots
We are the children
Of language. Maybe,
One day they’ll need
interpreters for the anguish.

Those footsteps there?
They’re mine.
That kid who cries?
Who wants to die?
Who has seen just pain
In this human life?

You are my strength.
Why I wake up each day.
Why I know I’m probably
gonna be okay.

Sometimes losing
Can’t exist without winning
And endings
Are really beginnings,
And we’re all here trying
To continue flying.

Vennie Kocsis
©venniekocsis.com