WOMAN AWAKE AT 3 AM

JULIE HART

 
 

Whose frazzled neurons fire a strangled shriek
inside my head I list and plan and check
and chew a little hole inside my cheek
my mind a flowing fractal maelstrom
of what is done and what is yet to do
I shall control this flaw inside my brain—
this freezing, whirring, stand stock still again
full of duty and love and anxious whine
and prices and places and do I need
to get cash? where the only sanity
is admitting I’ve gone batshit crazy
hazy fuzzy lazy when I used to be
sharp. Each day a burden carried, harried,
serried, married. The empty nest is out
there somewhere. Where? A soppy sentiment.
A trail of tears. A trial.
A scale. A pile of years

 
 

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