Some mornings I awaken with wet eyes;
tears precede my opening to the light.
I’m in a place I do not recognize
at first, my head still cowebbed by the night.

Deep shadows want to pull me back
to mindlessness, deep soft and gray.
I am an overwrought, limp gunnysack
too tired to lug into another day.

To have to re-imagine this old haunt
that was our world—to touch, to walk around
our furniture estranged—so desperately to want
yet lack the sense of being homeward bound:

these are the courages I must begin,
to live a story you’re no longer in.



5 responses »

  1. It is an elegy that hauntingly captures the hollow that has replaced the home. It is an event that must visit many lives; a sadness that rewrites the rhymes into blank verses.

    • Very true, Uma. When I wrote this one, a long time ago, I often stayed with a form like this English sonnet….sometimes the limits help in the expression of what is difficult to express.

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