upon waking

i watched as 11:11 walked by on the clock 

hesitating every few seconds with a wish on the tip of my tongue

holding back, holding on

11:12 became a new story, i couldn’t wish that moment back because wishes can’t be contained in a well

they’re out in the open, floating, waiting for a well-meaning hand to grab them

i’m just here writing with black ink stained hands, hoping someone can read between the lines

waking up the poet.

M.

Poetry

Mandy Joy Poole View All →

Writer and photographer from remote Labrador, Canada. Just another cold Labradorian chillin' in the Big Land. Can most likely be found walking my dog Grace or behind an iMac screen slowly taking over the interwebs.

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