March 19, 2014

Silent footsteps creep across
The carpeted living room floor,
Eyes wide open but blind
To the bleak midnight air.
She tilts to the left, just a bit,
Farther than she would
If she were awake.

Sleepwalking runs in her blood,
Her mother had told her once.
Lock your door and leave a light
On in the hallway, just in case.
Neither measure helped, but
It was the thought that counts.
Like leaving the window open
For the deceased’s soul to leave,
It seemed like a futile gesture.

Wandering aimlessly across
The stillness of the concrete
Courtyard, this is the farthest
Her feet have walked on their
Own volition. If someone
Were to spot her now, they
Would be torn between
Calling for help and waking
Her from her grave journey.

Each night calls her closer
To its icy embrace, until she
Is lost to it forever.