That Morning – A Poetic Continuance

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That morning, particular

day’s beginning she’d never forget,

in sleep even awake

with brush in hand she’d heard

the call –

song of outside world, reality

beyond the walls.

Eyes fatigue glazed still, cheeks

blush tinged as fruit in bowl,

ripening with pungent scent

to perfume the corridor,

mask the smell

of fear.

A nod, agreement, click

of receiver and a bag she took

to make the drive, long road,

to outcome yet hidden; years

to come unsure.

Unstuck the future then had been,

her hours full out of luck.

Foot before foot; knock knock.

Not who’s there,

but what?

[Copyright © N R Nolan 2016]