lately I spend my time standing on landings
and staring out windows –
over the flat lands –
trying to see past the gloom to my mountains.

every evening, I creep in,
schuck my clothing,
and reach for my medicine as for a lover,
overcoming the childproof cap in the dark.

my Raggedy Ann eyes –
a defeated kind of cute.
wishing I was anyone but me,

Inchie House, by the Author, 2012

any place but here.

sirens in the night,

I hear them in the dark,

rushing off to resurrect the dead.
are they coming this way?



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