Fatigue at Noon
I’m afraid of slipping.
The window studies gray rain.
I grasp a yellowed paperback
of steampunk adventures--
to find safety in an author’s hand.
It’s not books
I fear. The energy
drain of my body glues me
to the bed.
I glimpse my busy friend X
with umbrella on the Sunday street.
She thinks I already have enough
friends. The world of society
swallows her in fog.
I’m afraid of slipping.
Cycle
I celebrate our meeting
by dining with a glass of wine
at the bar. The bowl of the glass,
the red, rich wine that fills it,
the scent of fruit in my nose.
I recall the face you made
that gave me hope you still need me,
despite the failures and years.
Joy leaps inside me as I drink rioja.
How I had forgotten the taste--
I, a former lush…
But, my beef consumed,
I recall your dear face
and notice the absent seat
across from me. How long
since we sat together for a while.
A buzzing in my brain
ripples my sharp memories
of yesterday. Our meeting
begins to fade,
and with this fade,
joy crumbles into coldness.
Heather Sager lives in Illinois where she writes poetry and fiction. Her poetry has recently appeared in Remington Review, Flights, Poetry Pacific, A New Ulster, Otoliths, Magma, Setu, morphrog, Highland Park Poetry’s Odes anthology, and more. Her recent fiction appears in The Stray Branch, The Fabulist, and others.
I’m afraid of slipping.
The window studies gray rain.
I grasp a yellowed paperback
of steampunk adventures--
to find safety in an author’s hand.
It’s not books
I fear. The energy
drain of my body glues me
to the bed.
I glimpse my busy friend X
with umbrella on the Sunday street.
She thinks I already have enough
friends. The world of society
swallows her in fog.
I’m afraid of slipping.
Cycle
I celebrate our meeting
by dining with a glass of wine
at the bar. The bowl of the glass,
the red, rich wine that fills it,
the scent of fruit in my nose.
I recall the face you made
that gave me hope you still need me,
despite the failures and years.
Joy leaps inside me as I drink rioja.
How I had forgotten the taste--
I, a former lush…
But, my beef consumed,
I recall your dear face
and notice the absent seat
across from me. How long
since we sat together for a while.
A buzzing in my brain
ripples my sharp memories
of yesterday. Our meeting
begins to fade,
and with this fade,
joy crumbles into coldness.
Heather Sager lives in Illinois where she writes poetry and fiction. Her poetry has recently appeared in Remington Review, Flights, Poetry Pacific, A New Ulster, Otoliths, Magma, Setu, morphrog, Highland Park Poetry’s Odes anthology, and more. Her recent fiction appears in The Stray Branch, The Fabulist, and others.