The stand, but not upright, uptight

letting fatigue drag me where it may

leaning against structures at night

spewing words, streaming plays

off the page, it makes no sense

over cobblestones, under a fence

how could I let them get away?

demand them return,

but stubborn, they stay

too exhausted to will them back

they frolic and tease me, slip in cracks

confusion blocks my only stand

my body buckling with sleep’s frond

waves will away, like a wand

but then, I cry, ‘please do return

so you may help my poem burn!’

listening then, my words now stand

back on the paper

clutched firm in my hand.

 

– Sandra Johnson, June 26, 2022