Anna Pele

Wake

Darkness wrings the eleventh hour:
the knuckles of her spine tangle

the sheets, her tongue a lone flittermouse
strapped to arid cave floor. No clock ticks

the passage of stars behind the curtains,
drawn to welcome dreams, bar

nightmares from escaping the Vantablack
mirror in her head; robins warble,

a new day’s cooing, yet she remains
born of yesterday, and yesterday’s yesterday,

her I more fractured into Is
scissored from the We.

________________________________________________________________________________________

Anna Pele is a Russian-Nigerian-German writer. When she isn’t daydreaming or reading, she writes to understand the human condition’s darker facets. Her Twitter is @AnnaViPele.