I wish the memories all had jagged edges,
Causing a deep, red ooze each time I touched them.
I wish they blinked "danger" over and over again,
Like some garish emotional neon,
Warning of the inevitable effects of coming too close;
But they're veiled in a beautiful gauze of warmth
And tears that have turned to a fine mist.
They whisper to me, begging me to look.
"We won't hurt you..." is barely audible,
But it's a sound I can hear clearly
And I willingly accept the invitation.
Each time is like the first...
I've suddenly lost all knowledge of previous wounds,
And so I innocently approach them with childish eagerness,
Running so fast in my haste to reach them,
Throwing myself upon the blade that lies hidden beneath.

©1997 Gail Von Schlichting

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