6:03 PM in Hell (poem)

I’ve had a lot of ups and downs over the last few months, but I still write when I can. I wrote this piece during office hours before teaching a freshman composition class. I’m glad I can write just about anywhere.

6:03 PM in Hell

She rolls over in the darkness
and asks, “What time is it in Hell?”
I fumble with my watch, still set
to Hell time, and say, “6:03 PM.”

She’s quiet for a while, then says,
“I guess they don’t do daylight
savings, do they?” I sigh, pull
the covers up, and answer, “No.”

It’s so like her to ask about my
experiences there, in the middle
of the night, just as I’m starting a dream
that has nothing to do with the damned,

screams, or eternal anguish…and now,
it’s all that fills my mind as I flip the pillow
to the cool side, grateful for having escaped
but bearing scars I’d rather not discuss.

 

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