In The Daylight

Untitled | Jax Khademi | Drawing

In The Daylight by Brooke Morgan

We wake to a window,

Sunlight streaming through the glass panes.

Its illumination nearly burning our eyes,

Blurring over our visions.

But we can see through it.

Our natural curiosity signaling us to see the things out of our view,

We peer through it.

The sunlight stains the trees,

Making their green leaves shimmer with gold dust. 

They sway as the wind is carried through,

Roughly rocking them side to side.

You can recognize, but blearily, a park.

A group of children revels amongst one side,

Laughing and running.

A sharp sunbeam reflecting off one of their broad smiles.

While another group, the same ages,

Does the same on the opposite side. 

A woman sits cross-legged at one end of a park bench,

Grasping a peach-colored mug that blends with the color of her skin.

Her mouth gently parts and closes,

It appears as though she is softly singing to herself.

The beauty of the day is alluring,

That even with the glare of the sun, one would not part their view.

But as the day thrusts forward,

The sun falls, and the blaze of light softens.

And you realize the details you were blinded to before. 

To the right side of the park, children play contently,

Their parents sitting, dazing, and talking amongst themselves.

To the left side of the park, you glare at the tattered, shabby clothes of the children,

A young girl pulling down a t-shirt two years too small for her.

Their parents nowhere in sight,

With the exception of a twelve-year-old girl, 

Easily perceived as one of the children, standing off to one side. 

The trees sway hastily from side to side,

What was once the sound of the wind has become the deafening sound of a saw.

The tree falls, striking the ground forcibly. 

The green shimmer abruptly replaced by murky clouds. 

And suddenly it’s harder to breathe. 

Another glimpse at the older woman, 

Her face creases as her lips continuously move. 

But she’s not singing, whispers fall from her mouth.

Your gaze continuous down her body,

They follow the nail scars flowing down her arms, 

The red impressions forming a craft of their own. 

Further down, her legs uncrossed. 

Her thigh bounces up and down, steadily, time and time again. 

She sits awkwardly, attempting to balance her weight to one side of the bench.

You meet her eyes,

They stand still, bloodshot and far away. 

But then, like every other day, the sun sets,

Casting ominous shadows amongst the park.

And for once, the light cannot dilute reality.