The bedroom windows are drowning
and no one else is in our bed
besides me,
facing the limp strand of hanging Christmas lights
retrieved from some box
long forgotten in a closet compartment
inside my mother’s rental unit.

It’s getting darker, and the lights
grow lurid against lurching shadows
in corners of the room.
Outside, a washed-out streetlamp
hums persistently in the company
of water sheets.

It’s comforting, really,                      up
to know                                          rise
these ephemeral streams  still
from time to time.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s