by Janet Crawford Trenchard, copyright 2008

You know this place very well
and it is lit, isn’t it?
candlelight or searchlight
police flashlight
It’s your soliloquy
a room on a stage
in which everybody leaves you
standing amongst
odd moments of your life
-they’re your history, but
still, you think: why drag them along?
and so
you step outside the room
into the rain
with only a thin jacket, now wet
and it is that leaving
disguised as everybody
always leaving you
isn’t it?

Categories: poem by janet crawford trenchard