The
Clock
Waking,
I turn
3am
glows fluorescently.
Time
of the night rounds, my
wrist
taken by a nurse,
noted
in torchlight.
I
was never sleeping.
Sometimes
I
would close my eyes
feigning.
Other
nights I knew my thirst
would
be quenched
by
the offer of the beaker, held
so
that I could chase away
dust
that had gathered, dry.
3am
embossed my mind.
Common
time for dying,
a
crisis, running sound
of
night staff.
Chrissie Morris Brady
lives on the south coast of England. She likes birding when she can, and loves
Purbeck passionately. Originally living in Germany, she is widely travelled and
married an Irishman. Chrissie gained her degree in Psychology at USC,
California and worked there with recovering addicts. She has been published by
Plum TreeBooks, Scarlet Review, Mad Swirl, Anti-Heroin Chic, Dissident Voice,
Writing for Peace and other poetry publications, including anthologies.
Tags:
Poetry