Close your Eyes
Count to ten
Drown in the forgotten memories
dribbling past your outstretched fingertips
like the trickle of rainwater against a fogged up
pane of glass.
Underneath the layers of self-loathing and shame
are the wormy contents of your dying heart
Locked on the topmost shelf of an unused pantry
the brass key rusty and forgotten in a drawer full of
old batteries, used twist ties, and spilt salt.
Focus on the cadence of your breath
like the rhythm of the consistent drips
of a leaky faucet
swirling down the drain of life.
John Corey Whaley said: “This poem says so much with so little–and with a total lack of pretentiousness about it. Each line does something amazing by strapping itself to the familiar. It’s lovely.”
I hope you all enjoy it, too!