Issue # 12 June 2012
Lois Elaine Heckman
Bereft

There is a consuming hollowness between the sheets,
and silence kills by the threats of
its stalking. You've packed
your heart well
in the
white
foam
granules,
so it won't
suffer damage when
moving from one reality
to the next. But it sneaks out, searching for soft rhythms
of sleep, something of warmth, something
solid yet supple
to lean its
hopes on
in
the
night. The
hairline crack
of loneliness on
its surface splits to the quick, to
gouge canyons of grief in which you cast your sanity.