Two Poems published in Ariel Chart



Air fails

to fill my lungs.

I drag, as if on

a cigarette,

but can’t achieve

the hit



The Clock


Waking, I turn

3am glows fluorescently.

Time of the night rounds, my

wrist taken by a nurse,

noted in torchlight.

I was never sleeping.


I would close my eyes


Other nights I knew my thirst

would be quenched

by the offer of the beaker, held

so that I could chase away

dust that had gathered, dry.

3am embossed my mind.

Common time for dying,

a crisis, running sound

of night staff.
Chrissie Morris Brady