The room
***
The room, whose nostrils were plugged,
lives for itself,
And does not know the meaning of the word "waiting".
And when my hand hits
the handle of her window,
letting oxygen into her bloodstream,
What then?
What to look at from her airways?
Driving a wedge of sun- ray into the lungs of four walls,
Will I save myself ?
Copyright © Mari Bond | Year Posted 2024
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment