The Middle Zone 


She wipes the reflection from the mirror,
trying to see beyond the fogged image.
What does this woman see?
The years have washed away the childhood erosion,

smearing out the cracks, easing the holes beneath her.

Yet the fog rolls in occasionally, least expected,
limiting her sight, only touch remain.

hands tied behind her, prisoner of the fog.

She is bound by the memories,

the only road is forward, yet the view is not ahead.
She stands motionless, fear paralyzing her,

heart beating, she reaches out for a branch.
The fear from the past makes the future seem obscured,

does history repeat?

She shuts her eyes, bemoaning her fate,

remembering her pain.
Yet while the fog is held abated, so must the sun.
She moves her clenched fists before her face, placing it onto the cold mirror.

With a deep breath she wipes the fog away,

and what she sees is not a helpless child,
but rather the reflection of a woman.
The survivor of the middle zone..

(c) Bearurr, 1998  
Bearurr's Den
Bearurr's Love Poetry