Wrapped in darkness we can
no longer fool ourselves.
Our smiling masks float away.
We snake here, there
from one side to another.
How many times do we rip off
blankets only to claw more on?
Listening to zzzzzz of traffic,
mumble of freight trains, fog horns.
Listening to wheezing,
feeling muscles throb.
How can we find comfort?
Say same word over and over
again again falling falling to sleep.
I will stop measuring what was lost.
I will become brave.
Let slumber come covering me.
Let my mouth droop, fingers tingle.
Wishing something cool…soft…sweet.
Now I will curl like a fetus
gathering warmth into myself
hoping to awake new born.
© Joan McNerney 2013
For todays featured poem, we have gone with another piece from Joan McNerney. Seemingly a comment upon subjects such as aging, a creeping sense of mortality, and also the end of love, and indeed a reflection upon ones situation and circumstance within the situations we find ourselves. A tragic, reflective and confessional piece, “Eleventh Hour” brings to mind the works of Plath, and is another great addition to our archives.
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