4am

Poem by Harvey Gillman

A pencil of light pokes its way
between the curtains. Plays
upon your eyelids. You wake.

Slowly your mind unscrambles.
Your body moves stiffly towards the morning.
Time future, past, present assemble.
A choreography of space unfolds.
A woodpigeon sings on a tree, somewhere.
The patterns of yesterday’s fears
dance tattoos across your skin.

                  (Turn on the news.
Try not to despair. Try to remember
gratitude for the bird, the tree,
the sluggish river beyond. Try.)

Light thickens. Draws out long contours
of marshland. Paints the outline
of yet another day.

                On the radio,
a voice announces
litanies of the night’s disasters
(What have we done to each other?
Wielding pencils of light,
swords against each other. Corpses
hidden in full sight.)

And we, shall we continue sleep?
Dare abolish time and space?

There is a commandment in the light.
It filters through the curtains of the mind.

A woodpigeon will sing again
on a burning bush. Somewhere.
Be kind. Be kind. Be. Beyond the houses
the river rises from its bed.
And so will you

                  despite your pain.

---

Comments

Please login to add a comment