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Routine
Folder:
Twisted Branches every day
those disheveled bed sheets
and your contorted body
tell your aching eyes,
your straining brain -
when looking across
the debris-filled room
at the smudged
but effective enough mirror -
that you've been in a car wreck,
but you can't remember
what or who
caused the damage
and whether
there were other victims,
or any at all
do you know
what to make of your daily scene,
and most of all
what to make of yourself
and the broken wings of your routine?
In the second person point of
In the second person point of view, we are in the center of your brilliantly crafted, painfully clear and exact avalanche of survival that repeats itself daily. We understand that everything changed in a moment; now what used to be brief feels too long; what used to be easy is a Sisyphean struggle.
Clean-cutting, haunting and crushing in its trueness, for some this will be a lesson in empathy and for others relatable comfort that they are not alone.
It's always a pleasure to read your excellent work.
Although I, too, am mostly
Although I, too, am mostly confined to a single room in my house due to my medical difficulty, the intense and even poignant detail of your poem made me realize that my situation is not nearly as bad as sometimes, when I am in a rotten mood, I like to think of it. Thanks for the lesson in reality! This is one of Poetry's most ancient functions, to point out the truth that some of us obscure to ourselves through the mental and emotional subterfuges.
Starward