Two a.m.; time to arise from dreaming
Sweet silence ignored for the inner buzzing.
To my right, continuous positive airway pressure
To my left, glaring clock and resting dog.
Time to lay hand on his chest; still breathing.
Time to nudge for canine twitches,
Time to notice that it is two a.m. again.
Time to wonder about my objects.
Objects of desire, far flung and unrequited.
Objects of focus, uninviting and recalcitrant.
Objects of consternation, shrouded in malice.
Objects of loss, far beyond tearful grasping.
Up and out to try to change things
Fiddle with the thermostat, the window
Close the blinds against a reproachful moon
Avoid my reflection in the dark bathroom mirror.
Nothing gets solved, no one is called.
Nothing gets healed, no one is touched.
Nothing gets written, no one is reading
It's two a.m.; all eyes are closed.
I could move as a ghost through my halls
Bare feet on carpet, pacing amongst the living
As though dead, I drag my chains
Back to bed to curl against unresponsive forms.
(c) Stacie Ferrante
7-8-08
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