Darkest Hour

 

This is another of my character poems.  Though I may exhibit some of these habits, such as traipsing down to the mailbox in my stocking feet and being less than perfect in my housekeeping, this is not me!

I imagine a very lonely soul who fears the outside world and tries to avoid going there.  A person with agoraphobia or depression, who distrusts the outside world and as a result neglects herself and all her social connections.

I realize, of course, that this describes almost all of us, after a year of living with COVID in our midst.

I hope we will all learn to trust again.  I hope that at last it truly gets better, and for good.

(Rat’s nest, for those unfamiliar with the term, can either be taken literally, or can refer to someone’s hair, which because of COVID has not been cut in a year.)

Thanks for coming by to read!

 

I retrieve all my letters

In my stocking feet.

I step on the pebbles and ants.

I pick up the bin–

Been sitting there all week–

The victim of cruel circumstance.

 

The hoover is quiet

And the mop is still,

As I count all my nickels and dimes.

No concern for my diet,

I will eat my fill.

As I will, I will spend all my time.

 

And the neighbors grimace

At my knee-high lawn–

Though they never come visit me now–

And the cobwebbed corner

Hold a spider’s spawn,

And I’m letting my rat’s nest grow.

 

I suppose, I must leave here,

For the milk’s gone sour,

And the wine and the beer are all gone,

And they say it will be better soon,

In my wee bower:

The hour’s always dark, before dawn.

 

Copyright 2021 Andrea LeDew

 

For more on darkness, read Moon Ate the Dark or Too Dark.  For a glimpse of loneliness, read Sooner.