Sundowning
Here's a poem I wrote this week, called 'Sundowning'. It's only a first draft but I thought I'd share it anyway: They come to try and get me sent out of class, for cheating on a maths test I never took. They wait on Chalk Street when I’m walking home, throw stones at me til I drop all my books. They come from the bushes when I’m trying to garden, and break all the branches of my curly willow. They peer through the window so I scream in my sleep, but you insist their giggles are part of my dreams. They come with me to hospital in visiting hours, fiddle with the wires that are plugged into Mum. They think it’s great fun to slash all my tires, so by the time I get home you’re dead in the shower. They come with the power to make me forget, confuse me til I can’t even think of your name. They whisper in my ear so that you can’t hear: “your brain won’t remember how to play clarinet.” They come before dawn to skin us alive, drag us out to the woods and roast us over a fire. They drool while they twist us to blacken our skin, and feast with a grin until the darkness fades. If they come to haunt me again tomorrow, can I hide between your shoulder blades?
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