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Thursday, February 14, 2013


So I haven't been on in a while, and my first post is actually dedicated to my wonderful husband,  Rog, who I don't think could possibly be a better match for me.  Also, I enjoy being corny on Valentine's Day.  So I have a poem with the working title 'Lifesleep' (emphasis on the WORKING TITLE because I'm not quite satisfied with it yet).


It's nights like this that give me the chance to feel like the protector instead of the protectee.
A typical drifting into dreamland, for you, not me, tonight.

Standardly the order is you-me;
Or sometimes soup spoon-teaspoon.
Or sometimes mismatched spoons back-to-back as being played on the knee of someone else in Appalachia.
But not tonight.

Tonight I am a ladle.
Tonight I hold you in my arms, such as they are.
Usually weak, lying like this makes me feel strong, needed,
Like a comforter for someone in the subarctic,
Or a straight jacket buckled so tight the wearer's dopamine is engaged; or is it another chemical? I can't remember.

Tonight, as you lie facing your alarm clock after a long day's work of teacher, nurse, housekeeper, driver, husband--and prepare to begin the cycle again in a few short hours,
I am also facing your alarm clock, but my view is obstructed by the faded graphic tee you reserve for sleeping (I do, too),
And I love every second of it.

I drape my free arm over your shoulder,
Getting as close as I can without my wet hair dampening your pillow.
Between my hand on your upper arm and my knees bent at such an angle they aren't touching you but are still close,
I try to unbreathe on your neck for fear of waking.
Every half-minute or so I feel the involuntary jolts your body has as its going through that asleep-yet-still-awake phase.
It doesn't bother me.

I listen to your breathing, the even rhythm brings me peace.
In for 3, out for 3.
Only you would do that to me.
Not 4, not 2.
3. Almost as if sleep-you knows it.
I try to make my breathing match yours breath for breath.
I last for one inhale and a quarter of an exhale and am aware that my breathing patten is quicker and my breaths more shallow,
So I abandon my quest.

I settle with keeping my arm draped over you as I hear you sleeping loudlessly,
Until, of course, I must roll over and face my neon alarm clock (set 14 mins ahead of satellite time.
At which point I must relinquish my role of protector and try to make sense of the yet-as-well-as-already happened tragedies and mysteries and wonderment of life.

In the glow of my clock and the faint sound of sportscasters on TV recapping this win and this loss and that injury,
All I can think is lucky.
How lucky I am. How blessed I am.
To have these moments to cherish,
And I can't help but feel sad that you're not awake because I would greatly enjoy gloating and letting you know that I have gifts you can't have--
And that's because I stole them from you--or maybe sleep-you gave them to me

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