The Poem

She steps through the front door at St. Nick's and goes directly to the restroom in the lobby to wash her hands and get her bearings. She leans over the sink, allowing the hot water steam to flush the ice off her cheeks. When she looks into the mirror, behind her, she sees scribbling on the side of one of the bathroom stalls.

In looping, markered handwriting, is what appears to be a poem.


I lie inside this paper bag.
Breathing tepid sugared air
Through tubes of regret and morbid despair

And when the flash bulbs in my room
Spark me once more,
When my conscious dissolves and fizzes,
The world no longer tries
And I feel no more his quizzes.

In this light,
In this moment,
I submerge and give in.
Swallowing myself up and closing the sin.

Where'd you go, my refuge,
My love?
For I've never felt so alone here
Or even so alive amidst the swag,

Letting go softly, wonderously,
Gazing down this paper bag.


She heard nothing inside the bathroom, but the echo of her heart accelerating against the tin and tile. She breaths deeply and exits, the poem burning a spot inside her mind.