Living With My Past

The past is not just something

you can leave behind.

It is a stubborn dog - mine is a jet black retriever -

trotting behind you

at an arm’s length. It barks at every

yellow car, just to remind you that it’s still there.

Every time,

you jump.

The past is a shadow

that clings too tightly to the space

that you no longer fill, at least

not completely.

You can forget,

but only for the most part.

You can try and train the dog, drown out the barking,

or just refuse to walk by the side of the road

or you don’t go out at all;

you can run as fast and as far as you want…

But that shadow will still cling

to your outline.

That dog will still bark almost every time

you see a yellow car.

You might go months, or years without seeing one.

Equally you might see one every minute.

The past is a bed that you cannot always get comfortable in,

but despite this, you fall asleep more often

than not.

The past is never easy.

Some days it is easier than others.

Some days, the dog only barks once when a yellow car goes past,

instead of howling like death is imminent.

Some days, the shadow walks behind you

instead of being in front, and in your way.

You’re not always comfortable.

But you manage to find comfort somewhere,

at least, more often than not.