Sunday, January 16, 2011

The Morning After

Slowly and carefully the day crawls into existence,
Reaching out first a hand to test the feel of the light,
And then one foot, then the other, experimentally pacing
The ground. Last night.
Did? Was? Should? 
Eyes, shadowed and bloodshot, half shut against the pale
Grey light that seeps past the curtains, slowly sweep the room
And come to rest on the pillow.
The neighbouring pillow in this all-encompassing and vastly
Spacious double bed. So lonely.
Or not.
The clothes, on the chair, the bottle on the floor, on its side
And with the contents now half on the floor.
And the sleep tousled head on the pillow. A stranger.
Even if she has been known for a lifetime 
A lifetime has passed since last night.
Memories and regrets, recollections and shared stories,
All jostling for recognition just under the surface of 
A thumping head and grumbling guts.
Not again. Please. No.
(c) 2ndwitch (16/01/11)


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