3 AM By C.S. Mathews

Its three AM

And the light is green 

Splitting 

Casting shadows 

as in the distance birds sing

like echo’s 

a broken egg on my porch

blue

the light of feathers split in two

I'm awake 

Laying on sheet 

Red

Satin spread over empty bed

Not dreaming 

Aimlessly teaming

In a room relentlessly clean

Not enough 

And your there 

In my periphery 

A visage in stark relief 

Out of reach

I taste it 

The kiss that was awaited

20 years of impatience 

Stolen between breaths baited

And it tastes of skin

The clock is ticking

Slowly drifting

Sand shifting 

Day yet to begin

I'm turning 

For warmth, yearning

A reptile in need of skin

Not shedding 

Basking 

In the humid air

Thinking of water pouring

Storming

But the levy is dry

Hinting

Everything is drenching 

But the sky is unlit

No sun or lightning

Uncut

Like the film in my freezer 

Undeveloped in its casing 

Hiding

From a lack of lighting 

Fighting 

To find meaning in an image

Hidden 

Unknown till swallowed

By pools of quick silver 

Hollow 

Like a basement

Flooded 

over running 

though the rain is never coming

Just green shadows

Casting

From a lamp masking

Every inch of me in passing

At 3:38

Wasting precious breath pacing

My brain not quite racing

Just turning

An ellipsis burrowing 

Avoiding the taste of you

Dancing 

On the edge of understanding

Skin not quite clammy 

Just heavy

Like fresh formed dew

Suspended in motion 

Clinging 

Blade of grass leaning

Until the sky opens 

Flooding the roads and,

My basement sits dry

It's 3:44 

And not a second has passed by

C.S. Mathews is the coauthor of Fearful Architecture and an editor for The Grindstone Magazine and Wheel Works Publishing. Having cut her teeth as an independent journalist and medic during the 2020 protests, their work focuses heavily on activism, their indigenaity, truama, and her experiences being transgender.