Jitters Poem by Brian Rihlmann
Jitters
In my imagination
I stand by his bedside
while he sleeps,
with tubes sticking
out of various holes,
while machines
beep and hum.
When he opens his eyes
I say, "It's me, Brian."
His brow furrows
as he stammers,
"I'm sorry,
I don't know you."
I sigh, and think,
"Me neither."
The last two years
have vanished.
They're gone anyway,
but now they
really
are.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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2/24/2026 10:19:46 AM # 1.0.0
