Author Information
Nocturnes: Whitechapel, Creature Of Habit
[also for Sarah]
The morning brought a gray, November dawn,
and in the chilling, drizzled mist I fled.
Thought was too hard: presence of mind was gone.
An awful kind of ache throbbed in my head---
worse than the afterward of beer or port;
worse than the word of pains of any sort.
Only one purpose held: my pregnancy:
that little bit of life inside of me
wanted to get away, instinctively,
far from that room at 13 Miller Court.
By simple force of habit, I was led---
despite the dire derangement of deep shock---
through customary motion. With the key
in hand, I turned it in the closed door's lock.
Starward
[jlc]
