I am the night clerk
I work the graveyard shift
I've checked in many people
Never saw anyone check out

When they walk in
the night bell rings
I think
What's all of that crazy thunder about

I've checked in
the wild and weary
the tormented and scary

The pious
the martyrs
the dancers
the fishermen

Even
Bob & Ted
Carol & Alice

Clark Gable
he stayed here too

Everyone looks me in the eye
pleading for a room,
I have many
the night is late
only the dead are awake

Some nights, though, it can be quiet
I put my feet up on the desk
watch another season of the soap opera
The Young and The Restless

There are no regulars
No one returns
Not even
the dopers
the smokers
the flatulent
the token takers

When everyone is checked in
That crazy thunder it stops
But the night is long
There's sure to be another storm.

The entire day I spoke to countless mouths
At night I fell short of tales
                                                  To write.
I wonder now what did I have to say in the morning
When no event ever took place?

(Clearly I wasn't even listening).

They trace down your cheeks...
during the loneliest of nights.
They gather between your collar bones...
through your battles and fights.

They brim in your eyes...
assuring you the glimmer of hope.
They drip off your chin...
*like a thread of droplets to help you cope.

They wet your shivering smile...
reminding you of your strength and humility.
They fall on your palms...
appreciating your sacrifices and sincerity.

They seep into your skin...
to fuel the undying love in your heart.
They feed your soul with gratitude
*until the time comes when you shall depart.

Someone slams your precious art
Remain Open
Callously pokes and prods your heart
Remain Open
The world wants you to close the door
Remain Open
Wants you curled up on the floor
*Remain Open

Step by step,
With a gorgeous plié,
Kick some pep
Into a battement jeté.

A toy brought to life
During a winter dream,
Wining a mice fight,
Becoming king and queen.

Graceful and white,
Perfection is seized,
A swan's flight,
Applause from the pleased.

All these to treasure,
To hope for, but first
Have the right measures
And break the weight curse.

Do not eat much
And practice all day,
Have the right touch,
Get that perfect cambré.

Pointe for pain
And chukkers for luck,
Just hide those blood stains
And redefine pluck

When all the joints hurt
And toes can't be touched,
When all one has heard
Is Tchaikovsky's crutch...

So proceed and endure,
Feel pain and relief,
Prokofiev's pitch contour
To be ones only belief.

Let all this be forgotten
When the curtains rise
And show all this works gotten
Perfection for a prize.

I replay it in my head

L osing our temper
O verthinking
V iolent words
E xaggerations

Y ou walked
O ut the door
U ncivilly

S till, I wait
T omorrow you might come back
I leave the door unlocked
L isten to our song
L et it play over and over again

I pour another glass

A llowing myself to
L ose my mind
W ondering
A pologizing to myself
Y our voice in my ears
S uffocating my thoughts

W ould it have ended differently
I f I had let you win
L et go of my pride
L ooks like we'll never know

- p. winter