3:00 am

Sitting in a car
Three of us
I only know two

Pitch black
and yet clear as day
I can’t let go

There are so many hours ahead
and yet too few left
I am awake


They start drifting in
I push them out
They try again, a little more urgent
I push them out

They beg to get my attention
It’s working
The kettle is on
Now what?

The needle

The needle comes and goes
forgotten completely
until the day it returns
biting skin and leaving indelible stains

Each mark etched
is no less than a word itself
spanning decades
Drawn in pains of grey

The words tell a story I have forgotten
like someone else’s map
The pain long gone
in stinging lines of black ink

Maybe the story is never finished
anymore than a stream running to sea
Maybe it is my story to the world
the story of here I am