Delta India Delta

He views the world
from behind my eyes, reaching,
wondering, calculating. As calculating as I
could ever be.
I fade.
I whisper, “See me!” I run
through the stacks, looking
at piled volumes of the memories,
                          knowledge that already belongs
to me. He pursues me.
I trot through
the stacks, looking over
my shoulder.
Wondering how close he is.

And then I’m looking out
through his eyes.
Through my eyes.
And he’s speaking.
“Are you okay?” 
“Are we okay?”
And I sigh. I always sigh. 
“I’m not
ready yet.”
I hide behind
the stacks. I touch the window.
I can see his entire
world splayed out
in front of me. The breeze
on the back of my neck is
not from his window, though.
The breeze is from
                                  the other window.
The one–one of
the ones–that I’m trying
                           to avoid.
I can feel it tickling
my ears, whispering
against my temple: “Here I am.”

“Are you okay?”
he asks again. But it’s not him,
this time.
         This time, it’s me.
I’m asking
I’m asking my past.
I’m asking the window
behind me
from whence the wind blows.
                                    He fades.

I hear the answer. “No.”
Like a scream torn
away on a gale. Like a
whisper from behind
encompassing fingers.
Like a voice bubbling
up inside me that I never
I always knew
was there. 


I’m not okay.
We’re not okay. 
I’m on the outside
​                                Looking in.

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Nichole Willden

Author & Teacher

In an effort to put a more selfless face on my writing, I hereby submit this blog of my words. I can’t promise it’s safe here in my head. Enter at your own risk. But if you do come, introduce yourself, Reader, because maybe yours will be the face I place in my mind when I focus on my reader in the future. And then I can never again say I’m not certain who you are, because you will have pulled up a chair, put your feet on the coffee table, and taken up residence here in my brain. Sorry about the mess. I hope you’ll stay awhile.