Photo: imgkid.com
The chill in the room seeps into her bones,
while sweet-pungent scent of chamomile and honey
offers little comfort.
In the corner, a thrift-store lamps sits on an antique table,
its warm low light flickers like a candle flame.
The old woman rocks back and forth,
creaking on the hardwood floor.
She fingers the fringe of her gray afghan,
untangles skeins of troubled thoughts,
sips 2 AM loneliness.
The tea-cup, empty now, bids her back to bed
where she dreads the sagging mattress on the other side
that still holds his scent.
Written and linked to dVerse Poetics where the prompt is to write a poem using 2 AM.
Victoria C. Slotto, Author 
A sense of loneliness and sadness throughout and a reality for so many. The ending is so moving….brought tears to my eyes.
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Perfect — helps the rest of us who have no idea
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Oh, this is so sad, V. I hope you aren’t thinking of your care giving responsibilities…I know that old age and death awaits us all (at least death does, but you are so young at heart and vital ❤
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Not to worry. Because I worked so much hospice, the realities of the end of life tend to sneak in to my memories and pour out on the page.We’re doing well–no plans on checking out for a while!
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Whew! Well, the hospice thing is sad and real, but I’m glad you’re doing fine…as fine as any care giver can be, that is. ❤
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this is so poignant…you make us feel deeply how a chunk of life can simply be devoured by Time & loneliness be the leftovers….
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I’ve been there…getting to be an old maid; life is too short to be lonely, but it is very prevalent, as this is poignant. Nice to see you, Victoria.
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Victoria, this is beautiful and so touching!
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There is a sad streak in your poem and yet this happens to so many at the end of their lives, both the loneliness and the messed up body clock. As an aside, I would never drink tea in the middle of the night, unless I wanted more awake time!
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Excellent write! Bravo!
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This is wonderful. I especially like this section:
“She fingers the fringe of her gray afghan,
untangles skeins of troubled thoughts,
sips 2 AM loneliness.”
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Oh, Victoria… so sad… I can’t help but to think of my grandma – lost her husband far too early…
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Ah.. if young can taste old.. the nows will be grand.. for the now of life.. ah.. yes.. the spring of young.. when living old.. is a delight of life.. but the crevices of dark.. do slip between tangles
of brain still alive.. and only partially
here for now..
in greys
of still
of
life
gone past…
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This is very real; specific and universal at the same time. I can feel your compassion coming through the words you chose. Thanks, Victoria, for continuing to share your gift!
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Wow.. this is so sad and so vivid.. the details of the tea-cup and to sum it up the old mattress with his scent, and the skeins of troubled thoughts… that’s vivid.
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Mysterious: my comment and your poem appeared on my blog, I don’t know how, but I have removed them. Apologies.
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Perhaps the old woman cannot discern the difference between 2 a.m. and 2 p.m. Loneliness can visit whenever, but perhaps at 2 a.m. it might be more intense.
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Excellent response to the 2 a.m. prompt. That 2 a.m. loneliness is so sad. The detail in your poem reveals a heavy heart. Peace, Linda
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Reblogged this on Vivinfrance's Blog and commented:
Superb: one of your very best. “untangle skeins of troubled thoughts, sips 2am loneliness” – these two lines are poetic perfection.
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So sad. When my mother was widowed, she moved from the bedroom she had shared with my father, with its big double bed, to a single bed on our back porch. She stayed up until 2 or 3AM every night, reading or doing crossword puzzles until she was exhausted, so she wouldn’t have to like awake alone in bed.
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as I get older Victoria – I often wonder if this is my poem. Very strong and rich images and emotion.
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I have had several elder family members that slept very little, up at all hours of the night. I hope at that point I have little left to untangle on my skein. I guess there will always be things to worry about though. Nice scene Victoria.
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By the by, it is so nice to have you surface & join in; hugs.
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Poignant, touching, sifting sadness with truth; for too many one is a terrible lonely number, & old age six hand-in-hand with poverty & despair. My wife is a decade younger than me, & so I hope to dodge the bullet of isolation; but one never knows, do we?
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Oh, poignant!
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