Small talk
is what fills the rooms
these days
punctuated, forced;
hours spent keeping up
appearances of fatigued
dreams stretched
across too many years.
We have become a card-
board cut-out of an original
ideal. The traffic light
no longer green, but
a pulsating amber.
Between the bowl
of milk-soaked muesli,
the baby monitor goes off.
Looking up our gazes meet,
hang in mid-air and I rise
to attend to the bundle
gurgling in the only room
that makes sense.
Catherine Mark
2 comments:
Good images, Catherine. Very nice.
And people wonder why I'm skeptical about romance...
The difficult reality of responsibility and sleep deprivation.
I guess we all bring our own interpretations to the wordings of fellow writers.
It's nice to have you back.
Christine
Post a Comment