Waking up,
pulled almost against
my willingness
to stay under the fluffy comfort
of the covers,
I am held inbetween two worlds,
two states of being, of feeling.
Dizzy from my unconsious encounters,
unbalanced from my entry
into this present state,
I border on the edge
of cliffs and underground caves
where primal screams of roving beings
echo in the twilight hours.
Huddled in corners, alleyways,
begging for crumbs,
addicted to survival,
lost in short columns
of newspaper articles,
they are watching me.
I am an onlooker,
following their ritual of existence.
They gather together for warmth,
grasping for hope,
remembering yesterday,
forgeting today's reality
with substances that fog over memory,
eliminate despair, dull the pain.
Awake now, I stare through
the frosted designs on the window
at the darkened alleyway,
where the swirling patterns of their breathing
melt the thin ice on the glass.
They stare back,
brooding eyes, almost doe like.
They are hidden,hiding and riding
into my afternoon naps.
I drink my tea.
I have traveled through the looking glass
of the homeless night people.
I will be back
before they beckon me, call me,
once more, on our journey.

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Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack

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