All the long arc of darkness,

from frog call to bird call,

past the earth's midnight yawn.

Turning from side to side, 

arranging limbs:

hand coming to rest in hand,

feet curled together

like twins in the womb.

Sleep-deprived, they say,

as though something had been removed,

but the thing missing is itself an absence:

the release from consciousness,

the swipe of a damp sponge

across the blackboard.

But it feels more like a presence,

this shadow nine to five:

an extra life, useless for anything

but turning and waiting. Unwanted

as a lifeless and extra limb. The burden,

the dead weight of unchosen realities.

 

 

 

About the Author: Cheryl Caesar is an ex- expatriate, having lived in Europe for 25 years before returning to her native Michigan. She teaches writing at Michigan State University, and serves as president of the Michigan College English Association. Her chapbook of protest poetry Flatman is available from Amazon, and her poems and artwork appear in both volumes of Words across the Water (Fractal Edge Press). In 2024, she won first prize for prose in the My Secret Lansing contest sponsored by the Lansing Arts Council.