Whisk The Emptiness Away Poem by Monita Soni

The weekend is here
Stay in bed weekend --they call it
Night falls fast, snow falls softly
Covering the past

The day peeks out of
Plantation shutters
The city is waking
To ambulance sirens

Where am I
Am I home?
When will I stop
Fleeing ---from pain

Today
I will not --stay in bed
Drink my cuppa
Don my glasses
Spritz my hair

And buy a dream home
My own home
With lots of --windows

To whisk the emptiness away.