A certain week

The bed’s been missing sheets for two days

she washed them, all right,

that at least got done

but then forgot to finish the job.

 

Clothes litter the wooden floor,

discarded from her trudges up the stairs

and neglected after she doesn’t rise

from her prone position on the unmade bed.

 

Weeks like these mean she falls

asleep with the light on,

falling into unconscious before

she can put on pajamas or darken the room.

 

the radio tries to wake her in the morning

(along with five alarms)

but it usually brings bad news, and the dreary words

only make her burrow into the naked mattress again.

 

At the end of the week she’ll manage

to make her bed, pick up her clothing,

light a candle, and turn the light off

before falling asleep—

 

just avoiding the drop off of a cliff.

 

This week won’t lead her down the dreaded rabbit hole

but she wonders when, someday, another will.

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