After The Separation (June, 2009)
I can’t sleep again;
there’s no escape from this fractured place,
no space free of reminders.
Panic presses its weight on my chest,
heavy as a lead apron.
there’s no escape from this fractured place,
no space free of reminders.
Panic presses its weight on my chest,
heavy as a lead apron.
A man coughs and through
a sliver in the blind
I see his cigarette and its orange tip
fall into rainwater.
a sliver in the blind
I see his cigarette and its orange tip
fall into rainwater.
The apartment smells
of disinfectant and recent tenants.
I shed covers aside
and wander in darkness,
wary of unfamiliar walls.
Bruce Gunther
of disinfectant and recent tenants.
I shed covers aside
and wander in darkness,
wary of unfamiliar walls.
Bruce Gunther
I'm a retired journalist and freelance writer who lives in Bay City, MI (USA). I am a graduate of Central Michigan University. My work has appeared in Saginaw Valley State University's "Still Life," and the "Dunes Review."
Tags:
Poetry
when I left the military it felt like death. curious how "separation" feels the same.
ReplyDeleteWhat you notice in a dark strange place. All senses kick in between desolation and the walls.
ReplyDelete