The Funk That Surrounds Me

She’s gone and I will never see her again
Does he say that…?

Sitting in his chair
In the house they used to share

Getting picked up by one of his sons
Joining their family for dinner

Lying alone in bed
Feeling empty space beside his body

Over loud screams of television
Can’t make out, can’t understand

His mind is empty of emotion
He cried that day—was that it?

Where his heart resides, it is void of love, of anger
Filled with relief
That I do not feel today

I don’t want to share his absence of sadness
Just want today to be over
To hide, to avoid

No alcohol, no sweets
No bubble bath, no movies

Maybe a feather pillow
One-thousand thread-count sheets

The funk that surrounds me
My cheeks, My aching eyes
Has me out of sorts

Hands cover face
Breathe deep
Step away

Copyright © 2009 N.E. Tasker

This entry was posted on Friday, August 21st, 2009 at 8:21 am and is filed under Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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