state of confusion
In a too-big house, on the second floor,
parents mirror sleep;
too soon, skimmed from surface dreams,
pulled awake by a chime in the wind,
a phone that might have rung,
a doorbell pressed by a midnight messenger.
Eighteen months since slumber was lost
to this alarmed state.
Fear stirs blankets cold.
Mom takes a photograph from the night table:
a girl, no, a young woman: smiling, in full dress.
Dad pours a dram of brandy; announces all is still well.
Mom palms two Restoril from a half-empty bottle,
swallows them dry.
[This message has been edited by Corinne (07-01-2004 06:43 PM).]