core(d)
Have you seen my parents? I can’t find them anywhere. In my sixth decade and if I stand still I am immediately returned. A feeling. That my family is safe. I am protected inside. The walls are bright with foliage. For decades I tripped in disbelief. Are you my parents? I can't find them anywhere. If I stand still I am immediately returned. My skin and organs encase a miniature. A thick purple crayon traces my outline. Squint past the haze of inside and there she is. She has seen my parents. Delight in the crayon. Ready with reminders that less and less need translation. Steady now. Old woman. Your feet are wobbly as evidenced by your fall(s). Take the outline and fold its matching edge. Clear the foliage. Relief in the absence of anything expected. Am I a parent? I carry the light wound.