In the Wake

[Patricia]

The siren moon rubs her eyes and wakes
To flirt with midnight's enchanting stars...
I lay there, between the cool sheets,
Gazing out the window,
Witnessing the courtship...
A sweet peaceful dance
As the night frolics while the day sleeps.

I Drift...

Slumber tugs at the corners of my mind,
Whispering...
Scenes from life...
Playing like a picture show behind my lids.

Music stealing my thoughts from reality's grasp,
I follow her lead...

Drift...

I am on a city street in an instant's passing...
Cars rushing by; whooshing along the wet asphalt.

Mr. Benn steps into view...
Dressed like the dapper British gentleman he is.
Kind mien, wisdom in his glance…
"I can see why children consign their trust in him," I speak to myself.
He extends a hand,
Mine joining his without a moment‘s pause.

Drift...

Our shoes clacking on the pavement,
Our footsteps deliberate and familiar.
Ducking into a strange little shop,
He hands me a costume wrapped in brown parchment.
"Try this on for size," he smiles.

Suddenly there is a grand red velvet curtain behind me.
I step into the dressing room and strip the paper from its contents...
I seem unable to make sense of the clothing before me
Yet I slip into the fashion with the ease of knowing hands.

Turning to the reflection, I see a small child; a naive girl of but ten,
Dressed in those acquainted plaids of younger days.
Her face frayed with the worry of more elder days…
Confused, I puzzle whether it is me standing there cloaked in his magic,
Or if I have been her all along and the world I know is but a dreamer’s dream…

Drift...

Pushing the curtain back to behest Mr. Benn, “Please clear the air…”
Rather, I am standing in front of my mother’s bureau…
The reflection is the me I know…
Tears streaming down my face,
Eyes heavy with the same disquietude I saw in hers.

The bitter voices of my Mum and Pop in affray
Summon both she and I with unsought memories.
Our eyes meet in a consonant respect…
Sympathetic tears in echo roll.

A shiver passes through me utterly…
My being writhes to no avail
For freedom’s embrace…

Desperate now to rid myself of this mirage,
I run through the curtain.
Mr. Benn grabs my hand in stride.
We run…yet my feet are still…

From the prison of the mirror's grasp
I watch as the little girl skips down the sidewalk
Hand in hand with Mr. Benn...
Smiling over her shoulder.

"Don't leave me here!" I cry...
But their happy refrains suffocate my voice.

The curtain falls back into place...
Pitch black surrounds me,
A crushing chill seats itself within my flesh...

I wake alone as the cold night
Slinks in through the window
To fondle my shivering frame,
Tangled among the damp sheets,
Bathed in sweat and tears…and woeful recollection.

As my mind clears, the ache eases and calm returns.
I am at peace with the demons of the past.

The little girl that suffered them
Joined force with the woman I became
And found the strength
To shed those burdens…

I shut my eyes.
She takes my hand and WE
Skip off down a sunlit path among the Autumn trees…

I Drift…

©

[Patricia]

David,

Thank you kindly Sir!

Mr. Benn came to my attention through a friend who introduced me to a band by the name of Bell X1. I enjoyed what I heard and downloaded several of their songs. One was a tune entitled "Just Like Mr. Benn." I knew there had to be some significance to the unusual name, so I searched the net and found this: http://www.toonhound.com/mrbenn.htm.

That next morning I woke up in a cold sweat with the window open and Lukas said I had been mumbling something akin to, "Don't leave me here!" The poem is my supposition about what might have been on my mind and could've inspired me to cry out in my sleep stirred with a smattering of childhood experience.

I'm pleased that you enjoyed this little tale.

[David Eide]

This is quite a good poem, Tricia. It's moving and the lines are strong. Strong lines make a poem! I like poems that tell good stories and am curious about Mr. Benn. A very active poem, I enjoyed it the second time I read it. Hope you continue.