Erin Harer

Sometimes the past comes flooding back to me
Devouring my state with its heavy load
And suddenly, I am every woman I have ever been
The woman I was before the clouds parted and an angel fell to earth
Landing haphazardly in my unhemmed pocket
The woman chasing the sunrise with deep inhales of dew covered lichen
The woman in mourning for a love that was never to come
The woman on the river and on the bathroom floor
The woman in the moonlight, by the roadside, in the darkness

I have been these women and loved all of them truly
Along with countless other tear drenched faces and daylight personas
But now I am none of them
They are present, but not
More crudely, I liken them to the build-up on a cast iron skillet
Burnt remnants to cook upon
I guess that’s how I could look at it
I am well seasoned
An amalgamation of experiences that won’t fall softly by the wayside
But with the echo of so many women inside
I struggle with what each yearned for but did not receive in her own time
Each heart break, each thirst
I cannot comfort them or reach out to steady their gate
I can only watch with horror and compassion, the mistakes, the enchantments, the losses
All while simultaneously living on inside this body they left behind
I am grateful for the inheritance
I breathe new life into the world everyday but my constitution is weary from the journey

I wonder if there is a window somewhere
In the back of my mind
Where they all watch the procession
And as each baton is passed
They welcome another woman who will never again animate these bones
I wonder if they celebrate with joyful reverence for all we have endured
That would be nice
I think I would like that when my time comes

Today, however, I am someone I have never been
With each cell unique to this place in time
Each thought new
Each experience, a climax of circumstances laid out from the choices of women past
Even now, as I write
The woman in the red lace blouse who sat with the birth of these thoughts has changed slightly
At least into pajamas
She’s fought demons while sipping rosemary tea
She’s taken her pills and contemplated forgiveness while wishing the day away
By morning she may even sit with her younger elders
Behind the glass
Rioting with delight over yesterday’s pregnant belly and the little blonde pigtails of childhood