DivisionSeptember 2, 2022 7:01 pm Leave your thoughts
By Kay Channon
Same day, different body
time has moved on.
Living by amber light flashing, never green.
I wonder how to tell this story without repeating my grieving,
my fear so near, doorways become hallways,
with laughter on the outside
set to a 4/4 beat, my ears ringing from a brain retreat,
replaying the past, as people who claim ‘normality’ move calmly around me.
I return to the hallways
phone in hand, I’d like to know where I stand.
“You are number 17 in the queue”, which leads to another automation,
dedication two dead ends growing, doctors’ sympathy flowing with seemly stock photos showing.
This is the wrong medicine.
I’ve started writing letters again
thinking the ink may feel more real.
The stamp, unfranked, can be reused
fingerprints mark the paper
away from view,
our handshake dream a little too distant
© Kay Channon
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