Bananas at Midnight

My head likes to whisper to me all the things that I can never go back to.

She never lets me forget that

Time doesn’t just pass

That it will always linger.

She reminds me that

Somewhere deep down I’ll always be that little girl who just wanted a midnight snack in the kitchen.

I remember my small legs creeping down the staircase at the old house.

My nightgown that was too big on me,

Lights were dimmed as if a movie were about to start in the theaters.

I’d peek over the railing and observe my mother as her eyes stuck to the television.

Gaining the courage to tap on her slender shoulder,

My innocent eyes locked her much older eyes.

She knew that all I wanted was just a banana.

She’d peel it slowly and hand it to me

And I’d sit contently with my banana

At midnight 

In the old house.

I don’t like bananas anymore.

The texture feels strange on my tongue.

Back then she treasured them.

Back then the sky was clear.

The dark clouds never dared to enter my angelic sky.

Back then my head was quieter.

No alarms went off.

Back then it was softer.

But that was back then.

Now it won’t stop pouring.

The raindrops are bullets on my skin.

They drench my hair. 

They fill up my shoes which pulls me down into a puddle

Where I sink

And when I sink 

I can still feel her in my gut.

She sits in a small rocking chair that is stuck permanently to the ground

Eating her banana.

And as I age,

I still see her.

When I glance in the mirrors and when I gaze into the moonlight,

When it is late at night and I am stuck wondering where it all went wrong.

That little girl who adores bananas comes to greet me,

Hands me my nightgown that unfortunately is too small for me now

Yet I still put it on for the sole purpose of nostalgia.

She takes my much bigger hands into hers

And for old times sake,

Leads me into the kitchen,

Peels a banana,

And gives it to me.