A Sonnet for Myself

Four cups of coffee this morning.
I sat on the bed’s edge bent over carrying my head in my hands,
massaging the forehead the way a doctor massages
the chest of a silent newborn.

The room was quiet, the sheets still wet
from the previous night’s snot and sweaty weeping.
But this would be a good morning. I would dress and shave
and ride to work without anyone in my head

shouting fraud, fraud. Ryan would remain speechless.
Even Ellee would have nothing to say. The alien’s longing
would be lost to the frosted steel blue of morning.
All day, into the night and even now before sleep comes again,

I am allowed this moment with myself. Just me.
A young woman without any names or needs.

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