Me, Marsha Marie

Am I in Love With a Memory?  By Marsha Marie   A touch down your back. My fingertips are soft and vibrate with excitement.  I lean over and gently caress your neck with my lips. Your scent blinds me with desire. How can I tell him? Will he believe me? You roll over and I gaze into your eyes.  I see the young love you once were. I replay the taste embedded in my heart. I lay in your arms and dream of how I wish things could be. I feel your heart. I feel your warmth. Kiss me and hold me. We unite and complete the passion we once burned. I often wonder if you are thinking of me. Do you miss me? Does my scent linger in your mind? Can you be my hero? Can you help me escape my self-made prison? I close my eyes and still feel your youthful smile. I imagine gliding my fingertips across your lips. Your eyes the window to your soul. I feel as if I am standing in a forest calling your name? No one hears. Not even you. I cry to the leaves to hide my shame. Hide me from the chains that bind. I want

Whisper      By Marsha Marie long ago too far now just a memory is it fair? a unknown voice says, yes wish i were there to keep you warm to heal the scars time has scattered between us again i feel i have hurt you. i cannot reach. if only i could hear you whisper my name. a gentle breathing of our love into existence.  a tender touch to the face a gentle kiss of remembrance but silence is deafening and distance agony a reminder of the judgment called down from high youth trampled and left us searching  but we shall never find …….we shall never find i concede oh great prophets  you have won this round  but in the shadows i will continue to whisper his name until my dying breath…. “daniel, i love you” THAT they can never drown.

  Dear Me  by Marsha Marie   Dear Me,  I know that at the time you are reading this letter you are only 17, and you think that you have all of the answers for everything. Well, you don't and you are about to make some of the biggest mistakes of your life. You may be wondering who I am, and how it is that I know so much about you. Well, I am you from the future. No seriously though! Yeah, you’re right, I did watch Back to the Future way too many times, but yea, I'm your future-self. So listen carefully. No, seriously, you have got to listen to me.   Soon you will meet a man that will change your life. His name is Tom. He will charm you, and convince you to do things that you will wish you had never done. (Don’t worry, no one else will find out what you did, but you will deeply regret those things.) You will fall head over heals and fall for the stupid shit that he says! He will convince you to marry him, and you will leave the country with him. Yep, that’s right, you are going

(Me, with my new family in Kalu Kalan, Pakistan. 1992. We’re standing directly in front of the kitchen and the torn down room where Zain was born. Sponge rollers? I say, never leave home without them!) Ancient Ruins   (Excerpt from Bangles, My True Story of Escape, Adventure and Forgiveness, by Marsha Marie ) Another twelve hours in flight and we finally arrived in Pakistan. There seemed to be a thousand people at Islamabad Airport. The terminal was unwelcoming: brown walls and a metal ceiling. The roar of an unknown language swept through the congested area. Several luggage carousels filled the center. Zain said that we’d have to be quick getting our bags so that they wouldn’t be stolen. I kept a tight grip on both of the kids and followed him very closely.  We walked outside of the rustic terminal to an ocean of people. To be honest, I thought they were all there for us. I was in shock. How big is his family? Strangers from all different directions were grabbing me and hugging me. A

The Old Gray Door  by Marsha Marie Nancy slowly approaches the gray steel door. The silver plaque is barely legible through the tears flowing down her face. It seems just a few days ago she was holding little Tommy in her arms. That sweet smile and baby fresh smell rings thru her nostrils as she squeezes her eyes shut.  “My sweet baby boy. Mommy loves you so much. I will always be there for you!”  These words pound heavily on her head. Thirty years have passed. These promises are nothing but failed whispers today. She had been a great mother overall, but Nancy was not there yesterday, when Tommy needed her to stop him from driving his Harley in that condition. The long-ago promise was broken by a knock at the door by police. The hallway is dim and cold. Nancy clutches her purse. She knows she has to go in. She breaks her hand from the grasp, forcing it to reach for the door’s dreary handle. Her old ashy hand trembles. A pain shoots through her heart and down her arm. She jerks her hand