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