what if you just started writing
to see what came out?
like clawing up a big rock
that was slunk halfway down
into the damp soil
earthworms, rolly pollies wiggle underneath
not eager to be disturbed.
like excavating a dusty old box
you found in the attic
in the corner, under a pile of photo albums
musty papers, keepsakes, ticket stubs, diplomas
memories
seep out of pores
impossible to arrange back in
the way you found them.
The hillsides came alive as flaming horses streaked across the horizon.
Galloping, galloping with an urgent passion.
The frantic roar grew, amplified by an unseen power.
Instinctively, she knew she could not outrun them, even though the voices in her mind were screaming to be heard over the din.
Instead, she was rooted in place, captivated and unable to escape.
With wide eyes, she allowed her body to lie down and sink into the soil.
The glow illuminated her face and played with the stinging hot tears mixing with the earth.
Her hands dug into the soil, trapping dirt beneath her fingernails.
She waited.
This was where she belonged.
Psychobabble 