Joseph A. Miller, Cassandra
Words to My Inner Child
Cheryl Caesar
It’s OK. Thank you for jumping
off the cliff with me. Don’t cry. Yes,
we are falling into a churning
grey sea, but we can swim. Or fly–
You can ride on my back, let me be
your magic carpet. Yes, the clouds
are grey and gathering, but we
are safe. I don’t know how far
to the other shore. In the end, remember,
it will all have been a dream. No, dear one,
we couldn’t stay. Turn and look at the cliff.
It is made of dark grey skulls, and some are still
talking, saying nothing that we want to hear.
Cheryl Caesar
It’s OK. Thank you for jumping
off the cliff with me. Don’t cry. Yes,
we are falling into a churning
grey sea, but we can swim. Or fly–
You can ride on my back, let me be
your magic carpet. Yes, the clouds
are grey and gathering, but we
are safe. I don’t know how far
to the other shore. In the end, remember,
it will all have been a dream. No, dear one,
we couldn’t stay. Turn and look at the cliff.
It is made of dark grey skulls, and some are still
talking, saying nothing that we want to hear.