At 3 a.m.

We sit, five of us, naked
around the meeting table
in the office of the men
who arrive, late, in suits and ties,
and we laugh at how silly it is —
smart women, business women,
and these men
these men
insisting their way
as we play along, again

he calls me
a little girl
and we laugh

Later, in the lobby,
as I hold up a bedsheet
to my hide my self
I see across the room
the lover who loved
with shouts and shoves,
he smiles and we laugh,
embrace like old friends,
then he shape-shifts
bear, fox, jackal, demon
holds a fist up to my face
and laughs

he laughs

And I wake up
there, naked
deciphering dreams,
their train window filmstrip
passing, passing
ever so briefly
I am a part of all that I have met
and they of me
resurfacing to remind
and retell stories
I almost forgot.
But not


©2018, Jen Payne with a nod to Lord Tennyson. Photo courtesy of Pexels.

6 thoughts on “At 3 a.m.

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