deepundergroundpoetry.com
treasure hunt
She covered her eyelids
waiting on
predicted surprises
with inaccurate judgments;
she is waiting for
an empty hand without -
A book of prayers on her lap yet
she never flips a page.
It is a consolation prize yet
she doesn't feel any better.
She fell asleep
writing her thoughts down, her last
thought was a
dot of complexity; inability
to speak and
she taps her eyelids
liking the invisible
thud
she feels on her eyeball,
counting down the seconds until
another day.
Except it is a special day,
though she
doesn't really know
why.
waiting on
predicted surprises
with inaccurate judgments;
she is waiting for
an empty hand without -
A book of prayers on her lap yet
she never flips a page.
It is a consolation prize yet
she doesn't feel any better.
She fell asleep
writing her thoughts down, her last
thought was a
dot of complexity; inability
to speak and
she taps her eyelids
liking the invisible
thud
she feels on her eyeball,
counting down the seconds until
another day.
Except it is a special day,
though she
doesn't really know
why.
Published 15th Dec 2009
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Anonymous
15th Dec 2009 1:29pm
The stanza which carries that phrase is fiercly intelligent and observational. Clever and quietly powerful little poem. It doesn't wear it's heart on it's sleeve and itself up easily, which I rather like.
