The Past

Deep in the well within 

the faces of the discarded 

woman weep 

all of the faces are my own

the parts of me 

that I have tried to abandon

that I have snuffed out

like candles.

It is easy to believe

that the lid of the box

is fastened shut

it is easy to believe

that we can forget

the pieces of the past

that burn us

in the dark.

The wicks are still hot 

and the wax 

drops onto my hand

like tears

the shadows are climbing 

the walls of the well

they have almost reached

the top. 

What is needed

is the strength to face the past

so that we may go

as one

into the future.