It Was Then, Only Then, I realized— I’m Real.

For as long as I can remember I’ve lived in this tower

Its cold stone rounded walls rising higher and higher

I climb the wooden steps spiraling up to its pinnacle

It takes me forever because I am little

There is no door there or on the ground either

No way in or out of this silent skyscraper

Sometimes I wonder if I am real

But then I think, it doesn’t matter

I think and I feel

If being real means existing then yes here I am

Though, if being real means living…

Then I guess it depends

Geraldine and Agnes are real

I come from them, like a seed from a flower

Or a vien or a vine, a gorgeous granddaughter

They exist here with me in this silent tall tower

If realer was something someone could be

Then they are the real ones, realer than me

Geraldine was strong and creative

She pushed me to start painting the walls full of

flowers, birds and lions with pride

She told me no one could silence me no matter how hard they tried

She told me about how people came to shut her up

Ha! Sorry, boys!

She grew up

Out in the west where the yellow grass danced with grace and poise

And the sea was always a perfect turquoise

Agnes was patient and enduring

She told me stories about how wars tore her family apart while she was still learning

She spoke of how she felt free when she ran

Lithe and graceful, her feet through the sand

She told me about where she grew up too

In the north, where mist covered the mountains and purple thistles poked through

So I painted the walls with twisting oak trees and yellow savanna grasses

The warmth of their colors radiating onto us

I painted the mountains and hills, the moors and the loches

I even added a mischievous red little fox

The soothing mists wrapped us in quiet serene

It was easy to paint those memorial scenes

My grandmothers praised me, they held me close

The reality of them firmer than most

Their memories clearer, clearer then day

What I painted came from them and led me that way.

We climbed misty mountains and basked in the savanna sun

We laughed and explored and as we danced, Agnes sung

She ran down the mountain

Skipped over thistles, leading the way

To the little village right there by the bay

“We used to climb these mountains

Roll down these hills

Pick out the bluebells

That grew by the mill”

Her smile faded and she grew still

We watched as her memory grew dark and chilled

“I didn’t want to leave

This place was my home

These mountains and hills

Where I was free to roam…”

We did not move, but her memory zoomed, over the ocean, forests, and fields.

“It wasn’t all bad

I had a full life

One that I wanted but not lacking in strife

He used to be kind

He loved animals, then

It was the war that changed him,

The things he saw done to men…”

The freedom of her home was replaced with the pain and loss of war

She ran not away but round and round

I find myself still running now

Running away for her was not an option

She had children and a home that needed her to function

Besides, she was a woman

There was nowhere for her to go

It's not like she was allowed money of her own

The walls returned and I found myself running

In circles, in circles, the stairs kept on coming

An infinite loop

Though my feet bled with each step

I kept running and running feeling my heart in my chest

The fear that consumed her lived fresh in me

My lungs constricted with her anxiety

***

Geraldine was different

She had to be tough

She didn’t take shit

“In my house, I’m a queen

An empress, that’s it

Of course, we had to fight for everything we had

She’s over here running. We took a stand

Wars, we fought ‘em

Front lines and back

I’ll be dead before the day they see me crack”

We sat with her under the shade of her twisting oaks

And watched the clouds on the savanna float

Lazily by, not giving a care

Up in the sky all puffy and white

Unbothered by the ones they passed

The tawny dry grasses whistling gasps…

“Sure could use some rain

That cool blue release

But that’s fine. We don’t need you!

Go on as you please!”

She curled her lip at the cloud as if it offended her

All because it refused to share its water

Agnes looked into her eyes

cuing the mist to begin

“It’s ok, you did well

Crying doesn’t mean giving in”

In one blink, in one flash, in one lightning bolt strike

The savanna ablaze and smoke filled the night

A glimpse of her rage and the injustice she bore

But she had no time nor the capacity to mourn

It burned hotter and blistered the skin on my cheeks

I felt myself screaming but not because of the heat

Her anger was more than her body could bear so passed down to me

She had no choice but to share

“I’m sorry sweet child

I’m sorry. I know

This pain is unbearable, miserable, torturous so

She’s right. I can see that. You need this. Here

I’ll rip open the sky to ease the sheer

The weight of the world doesn’t have to be

On your shoulders. Baby girl, lean on me”

And she reached up to the sky and grabbed that white cloud

She shook it and shook it till all the rain came out

The relief was sweet but I saw her face, no tears

Her eyes were cold like stone. And then

The walls of my tower returned again

I sat there crippled by the fire of rage

And the lack of ability to create real change

My heart screamed to run

But there was nowhere to go

Trapped in this tower of cold, ice and snow

For that’s what it’d turned to in my despair…

But that’s ok. It doesn’t matter. Life isn’t fair

Frozen, I couldn’t run

Couldn’t paint

Couldn’t dream

Even Agnes left me and then Geraldine

Alone with my thoughts

I could not escape

These generations of depression, anxiety, and self-hate

***

But what if I say something actually out loud?

Would somebody hear me?

Would I make a real sound?

When I listened to Agnes, my walls melted away

I was able to hear her, so maybe I can say,

“Hey”

That got me nowhere with no one to listen

I needed to be somewhere out in the open

My voice was too quiet, too soft and too far

I needed to find a new place where there are

People like me? Maybe?

I could try painting a new scene

With Geraldine

I painted myself curled up, crying, cut open

The tears started coming,

But that left me drained, needing, and wanting

I needed my anger to come out, to show

I tried bolder colors and felt myself grow

I painted and painted and then had a thought

I painted a door, walked out, and turned the lock

Outside, fresh air, fresh thoughts to think and feel.

It was then, only then, I realized— I’m real.

G. Sanders 3/22