Even the light, exhausted
hours before it reaches the horizon, crawls up each morning
over the edge and collapses
flat out. Like a lung. It’s February.
People are cold and unsympathetic. They want the sun
to set an example, bright, on time,
everyone doing the jobs they were hired to do.
This is the wrong time of year to talk reasons.
If a woman sleeps through
the alarm and the phone calls and the husband trying
to bring her to: so what? The world
is a sickness we succumb to daily, our own need
pulling us in. It takes courage
to listen to the details, what’s the food like,
how does the routine work in this place,
where’s the other way out.
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