Asleep On My Bed

I watched you from my chair when you fell asleep on my bed.

Your voice mumbled from mid-sentence as if they were your

last words – I don’t know what to do, you said.

You closed your eyes and you were already dreaming,

curled up like a foetus. Your hand pressed to my sheets,

your hair spilled as though under water. You were still

wearing your shoes, your handbag round your shoulder.

The words I’m going home still there, mumbled from

your mouth. I waited for you to calm down.

I read your short stories while you slept. I read them

for what felt like hours. Now and again I looked at you.

It seemed the cable of your veins made a slow indication

of your life. A stray tear that looked exactly like silver

slowly exposed a trail. You were calm. Nothing but a

blowing curtain from a draughty window. There was

a slight snore, your eyes were gone.

 

© Michael Holloway