Despair

You have no mail to open, no red light blinks its urgency at you, signifying somewhere, your voice is desired You sit among last week's newspapers and last month's dust last night's dirty dishes sit on chairs and tables, forlorn and accusing you You read, in your bathroom mirror tales of neglect; tendrils of limp brown hair are plastered along sallow cheeks- that nightgown bears telltale stains from meals and sweat Somewhere, a voice implores you: make a sandwich wash your face sweep away the tattered pages of Mondays, Tuesdays, yesterdays You pretend not to hear. You turn on the television- an excuse for company. The measured voice of the evening news says there have been births and murders in your town; your local zoo has gained a baby cheetah the Dow-Jones is somewhat depressed today, and it will be cold but clear tonight. And somewhere, there are war and famine. All these things are ignored on your side of that dusty mirror. In your house, your bottle of relief is empty. Jesus smiles at you from a wall; his eyes seem empty. A cigarette burns between your lips for five minutes: your only joy today. You crush its stump into threadbare carpet and curl up on the floor seeking your only refuge- dreamless sleep though, behind your closed curtains, a pale winter sun just now begins its descent to evening As your eyes grow heavy you glance upward, and your pleading eyes offer your daily, silent prayer to the savior on the wall: that you never wake. Written February 18th, 2002 © on Feb 18 2002 07:47 AM PST   10 • 0 • 1