Man Waking
Jane Kenyon
The room was already light when
he awoke, and his body curled
like a grub suddenly exposed
when something dislodges a stone.
Work. He was more than an hour
late. Let that pass, he thought.
He pulled the covers over his head.
The smell of his skin and hair
offended him. Now he drew his legs
up a little more, and sent
his forehead down to meet his knees.
His knees felt cool.
A surprising amount of light
came thought the blanket. He could
easily see his hand. Not dark enough,
not the utter darkness he desired.

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From Otherwise, Jane Kenyon (Graywolf Press, 1996).
Poem Copyright © 1996, the Estate of Jane Kenyon.

All other content Copyright © 1996, Marc Mosko.