Waking Pantoum

by Zella Christensen

The sun’s not up. You’re caught between

the predawn chill and the sandpit of dreams

where you’re sunk to your knees. The nightmare claws

of poltergeists still drag you down.

Through predawn chill and the sandpit of dreams

you open your eyes. The room is dim,

and poltergeists still drag you down.

Sometimes they follow you all day, a dread parade,

despite your open eyes. The room is dim,

and you’re alone with shadows closing in.

Sometimes they follow you all day, a dread parade

and will not lose their hold, but still

leave you with these shadows closing in,

sunk to your knees. The nightmares now

begin to lose their hold, thank God, but still

the sun’s not up. You’re caught between.