Liz Johnson

The Tired

You lay there
Head limp on withered sheets and frayed blankets
Hair strewn over the sides of your pillow in gentle knots
As the tired warms the insides of your seeking mind and
All-hearing ears,
Melting past your weary heels
The sore spot on the back of your knees shivers as it rests.
It comes seeping in your toes
Parading through your muscles
Absorbing in your bones
Sifting to your straining back
Boiling behind your ribs
Swaying the sights that refuse exit from the back of your eyes.
Enters with the crack of light beneath the door
Seep through the chill of the open window,
Hide in the floorboards,
Or the inside of your radiator.
All you have to do is let it find you.


Copyright © 2002-2011 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose © 2002-2011 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission.