Lament at 2 a.m. / (Another Solitary Saturday Night)

— Vicki L. Harvey

My memory is failing…………

There was a time I could name my lovers,
precisely,
sometimes bitterly,
and in sequence.

Why can’t I now, when I need them,
more
than I did when they were here?

This night, like me, grows old by inches,
closing around by barren singularity, a sad,
smothering premonition………

(On nights like these there is little peace in
liberation).

Now that the feast is over, a Chinese menu of deceptive plenty, now that I am alone,
and hungry, I rather wish I could remember,
not so much names or faces, nor the chronology, or the circumstances, or even the
consequence,
but the feeling………

One thought on “Lament at 2 a.m. / (Another Solitary Saturday Night)

  1. Vickie, "This night, like me, grows old by inches." I hear the muffled scream and feel the terrible isolation, and the awful dread of sliding beyond feeling. A very good poem, quite moving.Dave

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