single mom evening
night falls on all of ushouse still lit
distant traffic whooshing
worn and drained
my life charger stuck
in a jammed drawer
the need for night and quiet
solitude silence
and the memory of a shared beach
the house is alive
when night hits
and the burdens whisper
crumpled package wrappings
and the pop pop of bubble wrap
five-year-old bills
I smile making tea
turning a deafmute back
on laundry clutter
displaying everything proper
while night calls me
like the sea and the wind
and my faraway charger
Poetry by Katarina Wikholm
Read 760 times
Written on 2016-09-07 at 20:40




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