The Nightmare

This is not about the dread and shock
of finding myself back at that house
we rented over thirty years ago.

This is not about walking into the kitchen,
my gaze skirting the soiled linoleum floor,
the cluttered counter-top, the grease-filled stove-top
I had scrubbed so diligently just before we moved away.

This is not about the overgrown azalea shrubs
hugging the foundation below the screened porch,
the weedy flower beds bordering the brick walkway
leading to the front door.

The lawn we had fertilized so faithfully
now mottled with ant hills.
Those cherished yellow bearded irises, gone.

This is about tingling from scalp to toes
as I confront that past life, now returned
to haunt my dreams anew.

This is about struggling
to break free as my brain plays tricks on me,
holds me hostage to reckon with the wreckage
of that long-abandoned life.

This is about my tightly clenched teeth,
the sweat-soaked sheet beneath as I awaken.
My eyes open to this new day, to my sun-filled bedroom,
to my sweetheart breathing softly by my side.