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By Ruth Dombrow
In the middle of night I wake up
pushing against the
undergrowth of memory
people ominous or indifferent
buildings and neighborhoods
grotesque yet familiar.
In the middle of night the train won’t run
the bus goes round and round
to nowhere I want to be
menace in the cracks of the roadway.
In the dark of night I wake up lost
fighting to return
to where I couldn’t get
away from soon enough.
© Copyright 1997, 2007, The Fairfield Review Inc., All Rights Reserved.
Document last modified on: 01/06/2007