THIS NIGHT WILL PASS
Down the hall, waves slosh at your door.
You’re in there sleeping until nautical dawn,
sugary lips like meadowsweet in its young pink,
cheeks like pear blossoms where summer lingers
and hums with arithmetic bees –
perhaps you are dreaming umbrellas
embellished with yellow bananas,
or pairing bird and flame, lace curtains with river falls
but baby, this night will pass
with its nocturnes, dark leaves and tiny lights,
like everything in entropic flight
you’ll wake to find it has gone away.
Medb Charleton grew up in Sligo, Ireland. She did an MA in Creative writing at the IIML in Wellington and since has published poems in Landfall, Sport, JAAM and online.