I forgot this poem 10:56
at night, after ravioli and writing
Fifty-four minutes before minutes
before midnight after 10 minutes
of quiet sitting required by prompt
to complete assignment and still follow
self-imposed rule system.

I share ceiling ward, reclined.
Cat munches for few moments, departs.
Assistant sleeps.
I recall funny moment
in favorite movie.
“I don’t think I could
sit still and breathe
how that long. I panic.”

My own anxiety bubbles
from belly like acid
from as yet unformed ulcer.

Breath quickens.
I sneak clock peek.
Three minutes elapsed.

Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Breathe deep.
You’re fine.
You’re fine.

I’m not.
Not one of those Happy Valley hippie chicks
who spends hours a in reflection
praying to somebody who isn’t Jesus.
Though such activity would probably do
my overworked gray matter some good.

I hate being alone with myself,
especially in the still silence-
enough still for this body
only lasts minutes, if that-
absence of TV input or keyboard clicking
wears on edgy nerves…

Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Breathe deep.
You’re fine.
Five minutes have elapsed.

Return to staring ceiling ward
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Breathe deep.
You’re fine.
Seven minutes have elapsed

I wonder why
I am so uncomfortable
communing with only my own thoughts
for ten minutes.

I resolve to ponder this.

Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Breathe deep.
You’re done.