HEAD DOODLING BACK
The Night Before
was like many nights that we had seen . . .
warm and comfortable and, blessedly, routine.
I do not recall any portent,
that life-as-we-knew-it, would soon, come to an end.
the house snuggled in the yawning street . . .
the crazy dog rested – finally – curled lazily upon my feet.
the poetry dangled and swirled and deliciously hid –
murmuring amongst the words – as it always did.
how could darkness wake from this?
was there something that I missed . . .
The Night Before.
at the stroke of twelve, I got ready for bed . . .
he kissed my forehead . . .
the clock tick-tocked on . . .
the dog scratched at the door,
and still . . . not a hint, of what lay in store . . .
that night – The Night Before.
not a clue: that such pain . . . would come the very next day . . .
when almost everything . . . was ripped away . . .
note: This poem was written about 'the night before' job cuts were announced by my husband's employer, back in the 90's. When we finally got re-established again (having to move - 6 of us - to another city, thousands of miles away) we had lost our community, our house (to an apartment), many of our belongings and books, our beloved "crazy dog", my job and much of our anticipated pension. Life changed forever, though - with the passage of time - I can truthfully say that: it wasn't all bad. Some wonderful things have come out of that horrendous upset and, at this point, I cannot bring myself to say: I wish it hadn't happened.
photo: The Night Before - W. Bourke
© 2012 Wendy Bourke