Can You See Me?

January 7, 2018

“Can you see me?”

Asked the toddler

From just behind the door

Eyes twinkling through the cracks

Toes tapping on the floor.

That laugh rang out in the house

Promises of so much more.


“Can you see me?”

Challenged the teenager

From just outside the door.

Flashing moods and misunderstandings

Fists clenched against the floor.

Those words echoed, dying in silence,

Despair triumphantly claws in for more.


“Can you see me?”

Wailed a voice

From just within the door

Life wasn’t supposed to look like this

From down here on the floor.

Wails turned to whispers then someone yawned.

The broken promises of more.


“Can you see me?”

Mumbled the mother tiredly.

From behind a nursery door

The mountains of home and living and caring

Piled high upon the floor.

We must be quiet. The babies will wake. Our hearts must be so still.

One day, perhaps, there will be more.


“Can you see me?” Thought the wife.

From inside the bedroom door.

I am not who I was once, you see.

Turn the lights off. Cross the floor.

I didn’t see this coming in the nest’s emptiness

We can’t go back, how do we go on?

Will there ever be more?


“Can you see me?”

Texts the husband.

Hands rough and body tired.

I’ve worked so long for all of us

Built this house up from the floor up.

Will there ever be more of me than just a shell

No purpose, passion, vision anymore?


“Can you see me?”

Writes the withered hand

Gray hair laced with white.

There seems to have been a mystery here

Misplaced in wandering footsteps on an unrelenting floor.

Life passed us by while we waited

Desperately, for more.


~Heidi Stone~ January 7, 2018