Quiet
sometimes I wish I’d wake up
and find it all gone-the house
the kids, the husband, the car,
the neighbors, the city
my ability to write
my grasp of spoken language
I’d wake up with nothing
except the knowledge
that at some point, I should eat
at some point, I should sleep.
days would pass like this, melt into one another
like the blood of two disparate animals
I found, already dead.
visions of my past life
would haunt my dreams
I’d wake up, looking for my children, my keys
then realize
there was nothing, just my pointed stick
and the pile of sharp rocks I’d gathered to throw at things.
I’d learn
to stay away from berries that brought these visions of family
and vomiting, stomach cramps, diarrhea.
eventually, even the dreams would fade to only
of hunting, digging, eating
peace..