DESCENT – II

Thrust out of bed
I descend
lost trembling
at the cold white table again
bundled in thick green sweater
gold scarf and black beret
scalding tea
slides down my grateful gullet.

Staying put it seems
again the door clangs shut
this black guillotine
cutting off air
severing words
and laughter
in a different tongue.

– Diane Sophrin
  Vermont, 3.11.20

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