My Corner Comforter Poem by Val Brooklyn Rogers

Seeing my dignity FADE into obscurity.
Am I who I am supposed to be?
Is this all of me?
Watching the clock.
Noticing hours slowly slowly
Drip. Drip.

I sit in my corner writing in my
Journal.
I sit in corner waiting for my
Name to be called for linen.
I hear the din from other areas

I sit in my corner, I am not
Dethroned. Waiting to be called
For supp, I am not alone. My
Journal as my comforter, my
Confidant, my home.

Peering through the dinge of
Broken window pane.
Watching for the elite
Parade of stars.
As night falls, tripping over
The MOON.