Predisposed to darkness
to counterclockwise rhythms
Time rolls by on rumpled stretchers
scrapes fresh color from
painted walls where corners
crave attention
In these temporary rooms
things get left behind
The gift shop flowers tiring
bent at the waist
their sudden fame
now over
Half-deflated balloons
sulking in the corner
still waiting to be filled
In the quiet we listen for pins of rain
and watch the skyline fracture
and heal in uncounted measures
Out there a billion sleepy eyes
flutter unchanged
they’ve seen this all before
Floors below
Earth foams at the mouth
and takes the wounded
into her wounds
In those lost hours we forget
all that’s said in what is not
let yawn and sigh intersect
And grease the swivel chairs
that cry out in the night
Stephanie is a 29-year-old registered nurse who lives in Georgia with her husband and two children, one of whom is autistic. She enjoys reading and writing poetry, and hopes to get up the nerve to read it aloud one day.