I Haven’t Been Sleeping
And I don’t know where the time goes
The middle of the night is a chasm of emptiness and possibility.
Did I lock all the doors? Are the foxes in the garden again? Is the moon trying to tell me something? And now I have to check on all of it. I’m up; I might as well. Even though everyone else in their right minds would be sleeping at this hour; even though all seems quiet on the western front. So to speak. Because technically, this is the north.
I am anxious about winter even though the days are so hot the pavement scalds my feet. I preemptively mourn the cherry tomatoes and the darkening blackberries, even though they haven’t yet fruited. Where did the summer go? Before summer comes again, there will be fall, and then winter — unforgiving, cold and bleak. All color will drain from the world and we will be forced inside against the onslaught of frigid elements. But haven’t we been forced inside all summer from the singeing rays of the sun? It’s like Mother Nature is reprimanding us and we are in a perpetual state of time out for poor behavior. Go inside: Think about what you did.
And there is something insidious about the pace, a kind of racing upset that burbles up through my esophagus, like acid reflux, but less scientific. There’s a bird caught in my rib cage and it’s trying to escape through my…
