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Writer's pictureJane Prinsep

A Time of Darkness

Head balanced on hands Staring mutely at wood grain Counting lines, comparing knots My head motionless, eyes darting

Lines and knots develop Into expressive imaginary faces Welcome company at our oak table After three months and six days of solitude

A rare phone call passes in a blur An awkward friend stammers her apology A million reasons for her absence Her neatly-transferred guilt engulfs me

Unused vocal chords intensively labour Faking upbeat sounds of reassurance Outwardly calm, but screaming inside My unseen eyes pleading for help

The call ends at her hurried insistence The allotted time up; duty becomes a distraction Her sentence hanging as the receiver clicks Hours, once more, now merge into days

Distant happy shouts of passers-by Shoppers returning home to get ready For evenings of fun and company With family, friends, lovers; people

The late afternoon sun descends Leaving me once again with darkness And my company of imaginary friends Their knotted faces fading finally to black

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