Forgotten

Standing at the back of the room she felt as though her life matched the dust sitting on the top of the pictures hanging in the funeral home.

She was forgotten standing back there and it would be easy

To slip out the back door and no one would see

She could become someone new

Fuck that

Just become

And no one would miss her

Except for the select few

Who used her mundaneness to tie them to theirs

But no longer would she shrink

Play small to fit in

To accommodate for others

To bend to each whim

She longed to fly

To become like the hawk

To know how it felt to be held aloft

By the nothingness of air rushing under soft wings

The joy, the fun, the freedom

She longed to be the bird

The queen of her kingdom

This image, though fleeting, left tears in her eyes

And those who saw thought nothing of it

No more than a mourner’s goodbyes

But truly she mourned for herself that day

And the way she had allowed herself to lose her way

And though the back door still beckoned

She hadn’t the courage

And slowly moved with the procession out the front door

To sound of the hawk’s cry

And her own heart breaking.