Cell
Sunlight leans on half closed curtains, slants
across a table, laid last night for breakfast.
A knife-blade’s twinkling snatches at his eye.
He steps into the empty room. The warmth
it’s gathered in the hours since dawn has made
a tiny increase in the day’s potential.
Today, he says, will be a good one: things
today are starting to get better.
No.
Without her there is no such hope at all.
Thomas Ovans has had poems published in Smiths Knoll, Message in a Bottle & London Grip. He sometimes reviews poetry for London Grip.