Startled by the sound of the alarm,
In the dark of the night she strode toward the clock.
On the fireplace mantle, the steel felt cold and dank, uncomfortable
The loose ends she had not tied up
She fidgeted with her sweater until it felt straight
And tied the worn white laces of her night shoes to a perfect knot
The tea pot brewed too slowly so she fiddled with the stove knobs
Until it brought solace to her soul
But her fingers steadfastly turned the knobs, this way and that
Torrents of tea in an ornate ceramic temple-shop mug soon flowed
Tossing off her smooth satin night shoes
Feet brushed against tough carpet tufts, Forgotten tea in cup
With her counterpart- an intricate piece of machinery, she played some chess
Again she reached out toward the clock,
Before burning out, like the flame of a dim candle slowly extinguished
By Shameelah Patel
