Summer leaves me too sleepy
to complete a poem.
The oxygen is unenriched,
swirling without syllables.
All I want is to feel the sweep
of the fan as I nap.
It dawns on me that bedsheets
will offer little consolation.
The A/C’s gentle electric rattle
sings a lullaby via the vents.
In the afternoon,
inertia quietly maintains
the wordlessness on my page.
My mechanical pencil,
below the mattress, rolling,
is surely dreaming, too.
The curtains cave and expand,
as if they were blowing
on a dandelion.
The springs of my sister’s mattress go off
like firecrackers. She’s up reading again:
the pages sigh at every turn,
a noise above the crickets
flipping chirps through the screen.
I’ve been trying to sleep for an hour.
Heat rises. I’m all bundled up.
I’m all stripped down. The nightlight glares;
her flashlight glowers; my neighbor’s porchlight
is a mothership. The blanket feels me
with its soft, short fingers.
Solace is in blackness. Solace
is in silence. I cover my ears. I cover my eyes.
Sleep comes in waves; it passes.
After a day spent lugging
my gunship around, a drape of foam
sighs over me––your arm, deep blue,
a velvet of cool crashing calm upon my hull.
An ocean you are that cradles
me, cannon-tattered, munitions-depleted,
safely towards the horizon’s lighthouse with waves
no harsher than the tinkle of your breath along my ear
as it glitters its way
in escapades down my legs to dispell itself
like a dozen rockets from my toes––You pull me closer
into a dream, the night all black except for
the whispers of stars you use
to navigate gently to the new day.
And so we go
I hate the feeling when you have this minute sadness and there isn’t anything you want to do, not one thing in the entire world. You are tired out of your brains but you don’t want to sleep. You don’t want to use so much energy as to cry or stand up or talk. Even thinking becomes too tedious a task. You’re just so bored that you want to cease to exist, if temporarily. You want to push every responsibility off one more day, do everything tomorrow, and just stop existing today. You are exhausted and anxious and the world is too much right now.
That is the worst feeling in the world.
Ciao for now,
I always have dreams about driving. Sometimes I’m driving, sometimes my mom’s driving, or my friend’s mom, or my little sister.
I drive because I’ve been abandoned, with the car, at the side of the road, and still have errands to run or we have to get home. Usually I don’t even know where I’m going, I just need to get there. The roads are filled with overpasses and underpasses and right and left and up and down turns, and there are so many exits and I don’t know which one to take. On one side of me is the city of Chicago, which bears no resemblance whatsoever to the city of Chicago, and on the other side is more and more highway, unless there’s a lot of open country. That happens sometimes.
The car is often a smaller car, with two rows of seats. My younger siblings are there the most often but sometimes it’s one of my friends. They are counting on me to get to the unknown destination, but are very quiet and collected. I panic while I keep passing the same exits over and over again, and despite this I turn the same way, and keep going in the same circle.
tell me a story before i rise
a whisper before i open my eyes
the day is full of nothing but lies
the night’s the only time i feel wise
can i feel safe in your fist?
bending physics with your wrist?
nightmares my one enemy?
night you make good company
secret me the whisper of the shadows
sing me a lullaby before I wake
sun and horizon, my only foes
my dreaming will give what lightime will take
breathing deep or counting sheep
all to learn while i’m asleep
so give me a prophecy
night you make good company
so i’ll float upon a dream
night and i work as a team
for here in dark, not even a spark
will rouse me from the moon’s scheme
Does this look anything like the bed you woke up in this morning?
I really do hate waking up in the morning. I mean, I was having a pleasant dream, where I was with my friends on vacation. In the Bahamas.
But there have been mornings where I was glad I woke up. Once it saved me from being eaten by a bear. And once it pulled me out of a nightmarish post-apocalyptic world where most everyone was a walking corpse. But not this morning. No, this morning I was reluctant to pull myself from under the covers. Not that waking up can be helped. But it still stinks.
But we, those who woke up this morning, we are the lucky ones. About 89,000 people did not wake up this morning. Any number of those people could be children, or parents, or lovers, or students. People just like you and me, they went to sleep last night but did not wake up this morning.
Now every morning when you wake up, you can feel lucky that you have had this overnight rescue. Let every day you wake up be another chance. Because you, for whatever reason, were chosen to live today. And you should make the best of it. No matter how great the dream you were having was.