Peter Maeck
By
Jennifer Criss
The End of the Line
I watch the woman on the bus stare out the window.
Does she read the street signs or watch the people?
Her reflection stares back, but without the wrinkles-
a perfect rendition of a former self
before the heartbreak and the struggles.
I watch the woman on the bus stare out the window
and I think about her life instead of wallowing in mine and wonder
who is waiting for her and the end of her journey?
Because that’s the thing isn’t it?
Who’s going to be there the end of the line?
Mother
She turns to tell her mother the most wonderful, fantastic, exciting thing,
but when she turns her mother isn’t there.
She’s a few steps back, attention held elsewhere.
Just like always just ever so slightly out of reach.
With the glimmer in her eye extinguished,
she turns back and moves on-
forgetting the most wonderful, fantastic, exciting thing she was going to say.
Awake
The room was cloaked in darkness.
The only light a strip of moonlight
dripping through the curtains- across the carpet.
The only sound is the gentle hum of the ceiling fan.
You’re awake, still awake-
thinking about every goddamned thing
as if it were life and death.
Stop, turn it off, let it go.
But it won’t stop, it won’t even slow down.
You’re awake, still awake-
watching the clock as seconds, minutes, and hours pass.
You can’t solve the world’s problems
in your bugs bunny pajamas.
You weren’t even asked to.
Those problems, they’re not yours.
You’re awake, still awake-
no closer than you were hours ago.
Stop, turn it off, let it go.
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