the ball

i walk down the hall and don’t see the world around me,

don’t notice the pictures on the wall,

pay no attention to the creaks my footfalls engender as i pass over sagging bits of floor

that testify to the age of this structure that i call my home,

intent only on my destination.

 

the bed in the room at the end of the passageway

was made this morning.

the sheets are pulled up to the pillows,

and the creases are all smoothed out.

i clamber up the too-tall side upon reaching it

and skittle towards the centre,

curl up into a ball.

 

head to knees and arms wrapped tight around,

i listen to the rainfall outside as it bounces off the windows

and the last leaves on the needing-to-be-pruned magnolia.

i’m perfectly suited to this dreary november day;

the cold grey wet and pervasive gloominess matches my insides.

i hug myself tight and keep my head buried in the hope that perhaps this action

will drive the dark demons away.

 

(© m. pahl november 10, 2018)

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