Literary Yard

Search for meaning

By: Ann Christine Tabaka

Photo by Richard Jaimes on Unsplash

Overhead a fan slowly spins,
as the heat of the night closes in on me.

Beginning of the end or end or the
beginning, not knowing which way to turn.

I close my eyes. I see brilliant blue. Blue
gradually shifts to yellow. It penetrates my mind.

The clicking sound of the fan catches my
attention with the rhythm of snapping fingers.

Two in the morning, and my mind cannot be
quieted. A litany of concerns marching through.

Where do I go from here? Challenges feel more
oppressive at night, fading in and out of sleep.

Again, the fan continues to be my lone companion,
giving comfort in the night, as I watch rotating
shadows stretch across my ceiling.
I close my eyes as overhead a fan slowly spins.


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