Snare Drum Therapy

the sound of a snare drum
coming upon you
from the bottom
of a metal stairwell
nine storeys high:
on the top landing
a glass snake is watching you.

Pick a stalk of lemon grass,
stick it in your mouth.

the sound of a snare drum
crossing a brittle desert:
night is closing in,
it’s getting cold,
your only companions are
meteors and comets
and an old dog blanket.

Snap your fingers
three times, quick and loud.

Wake up.
Welcome home.

Jane Røken

If you have any comments on her poem,  Jane Røken would be pleased to hear from you.