It’s been three days since my footsteps

have led any farther than the kitchen,

ill-stocked for times like these,

and the bathroom, where my mirror and I

play a constant game of hide-and-seek.

I am afraid to see my own face,

salt-scalded and stained with disillusionments;

frightened by my own eyes, the dull

sockets of a stranger staring through me

as though I’m nothing more than an apparition.

Tomorrow is dawning like a broken record,

skipping across the sky in shades too pale to name,

and I think briefly about escaping,

shelving my heartache for an hour, for a day,

but all I can manage is a moment’s glance

out of a window smudged with forgotten fingerprints,

before dragging myself like a too full suitcase

back to the twilight of a room

drenched in the stillness of waning memories.


Sarah Williams, USA

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