Reckoning Poem by Rashida Mack

Gathering,
we sit around,
telling stories,
skipping between this and that,
deeper thoughts explored,
our minds tumble free,
senses peak,
sound crisp and clear,
taste distinct and succulent,
smell sweet and clean,
sight bright,
as if opening a fresh box of crayola crayons,
for the first time,
applied to the world,
smoke wafts through the air,
ash trays fill to the brim,
ice clinks in half full glasses of what's been persribed,

Rising,
you clamor,
as if through water,
an octopus,
spreading and groping through gravity,
as you make your way from the chair,
past the table,
the sounds of others grows into a distant echo,
through the hallway,
to the bathroom,
where fumbling for the light,
you catch your outline,
and giggle,

Flipping the switch,
suddenly there,
standing before you,
written in every misplaced hair,
stain,
wrinkled,
and red eyed shadow,
of who you are,
you look to the basin,
turn on the water,
splash your hands,
maybe your face,
but it's too late,
lights out,
it's time to go home.

*Goldenphant.com