My ear commits a quiet ache,
barely a whisper of pain,
each time I open my mouth
to masticate the ash of suffering—
a suffering which does not belong to me.
Tonight, I will dream
and forget it in the morning.
Tonight, I will write
and pray something will come from it.
Tonight, my ear will hurt
and, by morning, I will feel nothing—
not even a twinge. I sip
water for the first time in days.
I bless the pill before and after
I swallow it. I peer through the window
of someone else's anguish and see
a girl who is not me
but has a face like mine
looking back at me
with my father's eyes.
Tonight, I will see not myself
but a self
and shatter from the heat
of my seeing like thin glass.
YOU ARE READING
THE TWENTY SECOND YEAR
PoetryAt birth, we are all sentenced to life- to live. Highest Rankings: #4 in poembook #4 in poemcollection © z. t. corley, 2024
