Mark Scandrette

NIGHT (January 26th, 2008)

Through skeleton branches
the western sky fades from blue to pink
apocalypse red then starry black
and I feel the night
coming on the wind
and in the darkening gray
as the temperature drops
in minutes by degrees

Night comes like death
All the promises of the day lost
in the fatigue of twilight dusk
The shadows now lengthening
over all that is left undone

The warmth of the kitchen hearth
aroma of dinner simmering
The artificial glow of electricity
and the music on the radio
do so little to dissuade me
from the sneaking suspicion that the best efforts and ideals of my nature
now lay aborted, still born or hopelessly deformed
by the grave inevitability and the cruel withholding of your blessing

I am haunted in this witching hour
The hour when you abandon me
to the lonely voices and lingering doubts
kept hidden by the business of the day

I am desperate for comfort
In your absence
I savor of my food, cheap laughs,
fantasy film violence or the stupor of wine—
some sweat release or illicit escape
from the anger and frustration of being your unloved child
left alone in the night.
Your truancy is felt in the empty spaces
And so I rush
Past teeth brushing or bedtime prayers
to sleep and dream of other worlds
Tasting the milk of a mothers breast
Where all strivings cease
And all that has been
And all that will be
Is unmade