What if those bleak mornings <br />when you are plucked from sleep <br />by sonorous bump and groan <br />and sucked into the vacuum of a black hall <br />to land in your alien kitchen <br />are only rehearsals for living alone <br /> <br />and in that slot of time <br />decisions to make a pot of chocolate, <br />consume seven figs and an omelet <br />and watch “Arsenic and Old Lace” one more time <br />are seeds of a life you may inherit <br />when you are flung from promenade deck <br />into the hold of the unknown. <br /> <br />What if you admit that part of you <br />craves the sunless solitude <br />reveling in silent rooms you tour <br />like a traveler to another galaxy.<br /><br />Peggy Hapke Lewis<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rehearsals-for-space/
