Empty Souls and Rabbit Holes

 

I wanted to compose a poem from

this collection of thoughts that rattle

like ghosts inside my brain. Something worthy

and profound. But they won’t organize

into any kind of order, so I compensate

and collect myself instead; keeping 

busy because physical exhaustion is 

so much better than mental anguish 

any day of the week, and “twice on Sunday."

Alice trips on her sadness and slips 

                                                                       d

                                                                          o

                                                                            w

                                                                                n

 the rabbit hole to escape for awhile.

The Hatter’s gone MAD and there’s not

enough tea in the pot to calm the tempest, 

but it passes quickly.  She shrunk for a moment, 

but now she’s grown. She climbs back to reality.

The fantasies have dissipated; the dreams fade

as they often do.  I have read our days

are numbered, and some are meant to walk 

alone; we mark our time inside these pages

where grief and happiness are one.

 

Ginny Brannan 2023

Image: John Tenniel, artist