AT 3 AM
the room contains no sound
except the ticking of the clock
which has begun to panic
like an insect, trapped
in an enormous box.
Books lie open on the carpet.
and beside you there’s a woman
who is crying quietly
so you won’t wake.
March 30, 2017
I am about to take a sip from my third cup of coffee. It’s only 8:46 AM and I’m finding it hard to not-cry.
I asked my dad if I could stay home for a few days and simply told him that I was sad. He told me to come home starting tonight. In his message, I felt he transmitted a sense of urgency to save me. He knows my shadows.
So I’ll be staying home for a few days because right now, I want to cry to a child and just sit with my dad and be healed by a love that doesn’t need words but simply proximity. Meanwhile, this song will be on replay until I find my way to my childhood bed to cry under the sheets:
We wrote tales telling them backwards
Having the endings meet where it all started
We dreamed our heads were on backwards
We could look forward to finding our lost year
We built tents out in our backyards
Tying the endings where we knew it all started