Her Thing.

The dog lay on the grass on her back. She would groan and moan and wriggle and rub ---and make 'Wookie' noises. These were all noises to show--- she was happy in the sun, she was happy in the light, and she was happy in the fresh air. Happy, groaning noises of delight she made, as she wriggled back and forth, stretching herself out from top to bottom like the letter 'S.'  Swoosh swoosh, grunt grunt, she made music. How did I not know this was her thing? 

"How Dark is the Night?"

How dark is the night

when your baby boy

has left you?
Lying-he lies
stretched full out
with her by his side
alone on a nubby white bed.

Their candle-
it seems 
all but snuffed 
full out
I cannot comprehend

no warmth in his small fingers

they curl up with the mourners

spread apart in the room adjacent

filled with grief stricken silence 
broken up by her sobs

I am 20…
(I am 20)

How dark is the night?

How dark is the night?

A mother sits looking
her head turned aside
leaving her baby to slip

slowly he slides...

downward but looking up 
grimy is the Appalachian 
black water tendrils

as inward they glide along the curve of his skull 
Confused is 
the look 
as farther he sinks

Black water, you lie!
You are a liar
There is no truth in you

How dark is the night?

How dark is the night?

Must I walk these halls alone

with my vision obscured

banging my shins broken now bleeding 

Once vital the helper-now helped

I scratch my head asking
over I turn this
one thing
I ask
“How dark is the night?”


© Karen Powell