The Routine
The Routine
I woke today, teeth like ground gears.
In my dreams, I can fly far above the tear-soaked sequoias and
caked roots of all that grow, flying far away from their togetherness-
My waking, a cold mockery unveiled.
I move along the hall, shrouded in fractured memories
bound by copper, wood, cheap plastic from the "somewhere" store.
All the while, with clenched jaw.
Somehow, today will be different.
My arrival at the coffeepot, one more item
coated in yesterday's guilt and a sudden flashing glimpse
of the cup shattering against the wall;
Strangely beautiful in the morning hue.
I think my gums are bleeding,
intent on pouring out the very last of life I dare to cling to.
I ponder a reason to enter
the exit door...
A stranger I might meet,
an opportunity, yet unseen, or perhaps
a moment of serenity.
The couch is caving in, resembling a carriage
made for innocence and infancy.
I feel the need to be cradled.
I decided to stay indoors today.
All day, a day of rest-
much like before and before that.
Nobody came knocking today.
You did not come knocking today.
I watch the sun go to sleep without a word being spoken.
I will talk in my sleep.
I will cry out to a room banished from all companionship;
Unlike the flowers teamed in rows.
I am uprooted,
wilted,
and laid out to dry.
Copyright © Mary Lynn Nakoneczny | Year Posted 2024
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