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At 10:52 P.M.
April 7, 2013
You're in bed with lungs
swimming in mucus,
there's a dog barking
and a car crying
and the shaking bones of the metro
are rattling your own.
My thumbnail is too thick
to fit in the lines of your palm;
my words are too papery
to push past your sinuses
and silence them.
My lungs don't feel
like two shriveled clouds
and one panting stone
at the same time,
But I cannot sleep
All the same.
I will let the hours slip by
like the syllables of your name
As I softly repeat it to myself
until I know you are okay.
© Rosie A., Lexington, MA
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