by Courtney Thomson
I don’t know how to be. In the room,
with a bed too great for my body.
Rest my arm around my waist
to feign company, until it numbs. Press
two fingers against the vein to feel
a pulse. Whisper goodnight
aloud to hear the word.
Slide fingers into my lone
hand’s embrace; I need to find
solace in a world of four walls and bleached
sheets. I swing in this restless trapeze
waiting for sleep to catch
me but I’m tangled in memory’s net.
My mother said, I need to let the past
go but I can’t control where my mind
parks; I am only a passenger.
Courtney Thomson is a QUT Creative and Professional Writing graduate. She has special interest in poetry and personal essay. Her work has appeared in Voiceworks, Concrescence and Woolf Pack.
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