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EmmaLee Pallai

Seasons of Change

When I was younger, my mother would return home from work while there was still sunlight. I would prepare her meal, and leave just as the sun descended from the heavens but before it lent a reflected light to the moon. Dusk, the time in-between, is what I enjoyed. Certain creatures exist only in the in-between hours, and certain fantasies emerge. With eyes not adjusted to the upcoming dark, and searching for the rapidly decreasing light, I was blinded to the world I lived in day after day, to the realities of living with a mother that was bi-polar–night or day, winter or summer, but never fall or dusk.

I reach for your hand
Between anger and remorse
And try to find love