“Honey.”
Your voice woke me,
Mom.
A midafternoon snooze
On a day threatening storms
And oppressive with mugginess,
I slept finally
On the couch,
A way of knowing
I am alive yet
As I merely close my eyes
In a place meant for sitting.
It is for others to keep watch.
I hear your voice
As I arise in an empty room
And return to
A broken heart.
Where are you?
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