When you wake up in the morning
with dread of a house you don’t own
your key stuck in a gummed-up lock
and a memory of 4:00 a.m.,
on your own porch, no one else
awake yet, maybe some birds, maybe
How are you on your porch
in your pajamas, and no one there
to let you in?
Your mind goes down mazes:
Where did you make a wrong turn?
And where, where is it
that you’re supposed to be instead?
Today’s prompt at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads was to write about the mind.