Cloudy Day Poems

(Sackville has been subject to some distinctly dreary weather for the past few days, so I figured I would post a few poems that fit the melancholy mood.)



While remaking the bed,
I notice how the sheets
have tangled in the dryer,
twisting themselves
into knots of domesticity.

I become so engrossed
that I set them down
to get a better look
at their nested spirals
and warped fabric.

These are not the bedsheets
that I know, the simple surfaces
on which I lay my body
at the day’s end. Heat and motion
have metamorphosed them into artifacts
of divine contemplation.

I stare at the coils of still-warm linen,
tug at the corners with curiosity,
quite forgetting my original purpose
until night falls and I find myself
with only a blank mattress to sleep on.



i’m not asking for another life
or a single decade
or even twelve new months

just a handful of hours
scattered like seeds
through my dullest monday mornings
and rain-soaked thursday afternoons

not the yearly bait-and-switch
of daylight savings
given to be taken away

a piecemeal gift of time
offered freely
when it’s needed

longer lunch breaks

the occasional
leisurely stroll

a way to make up
for all those nights
spent writing
when i should have been asleep



Everyone is beautiful
when asleep,

overflowing with
earnest exhaustion.

No lies,
no pretenses,
no impersonation.
Artifice requires conscious effort.

As I watch your eyelids fall,
your muscles shed their tension,
your mind slows to a gentle hum.
In that moment I would believe
you never forgot
how to be yourself.



People my age tend to know Death
in the same way
one knows politicians
the weather forecast
or wisdom tooth surgery

We know the promises
possible outcomes
but we cannot know the reality
until the second before

that split seed of truth
already wasted the second after.

Author: Mitchell

I'm 22 and currently pursuing my MA in Creative Writing at the University of Toronto.

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