I shuffle and squirm in bed, worn out from another difficult day. I’ve tried everything, reading, watching TV listening to soft music, nothing works.
Suddenly, I her the wind pick up and blow against my screen. A spatter of rain taps quietly n my roof. Lightening and thunder rumble far away. For a moment, the rain falls in torrents, then settles into a peaceful song. Nature’s lullaby.
Before I know it, my reddened eyes start to blink. My mind goes blank, my heart slows to a quiet rhythm. The soft breathing of my cat blends with the gentleness of a warm summer rain.
Soon, I am asleep. The rain has does its trick. Nature has helped me get a much-needed rest. I wake up, a bit surprised that it is morning. Somehow, that is alright, I feel refreshed.
In early morning earth tunes up its harp.
Emerging from the flat dark night, the sharp
shrill bird songs call me from my silent sleep
where I in cottoned quiet cannot keep
my consciousness awake. I spiral down
to places where my dream becomes my town.
I star in my own movie, watch the flow
of action, but then with the morning’s glow
remember nothing. Now the flutes sing tunes
and I come into wakefulness. Day croons
its melodies from sunrise into bright
surprises. Could these gifts have come from night?
Our lives would look so different,
but I can’t say how
because all the years of our marriage
a third entity has been present.
We call it “E.”
Affecting what we do and how we travel,
what I can consume, the very hours I must sleep,
we become contortionists with the best-laid plans,
rubber-banding them into relaxation
to avoid a hit.
Hyper-vigilant, en garde our constant cry, we stay alert to warning signs
of fluttering eyes, mumbled words, stilted gait.
When they appear my knight rides in and does battle…
again.
First light on a cold morning. The mind is seldom free of have to’s, need to’s. The warmth of the bedding around the shoulders anchors one. I can hear the wind. I’ll close my eyes for a little while longer.
I remember the days, though faintly, I remember the voice, soothing, of my mother singing to me, the lullaby to make me fall asleep. Being the youngest one and the last one to join the family, I was the star of everyone’s eyes. I don’t remember so clearly, but I see through my inner-eyes the scene of my mother cradling me in her arms or walking with me holding my hands, singing the lullaby to me. It was always about something to cheer me up to grow and be successful. I know them all by heart which have been told to me time and again by my family. Now I remember the time when I was 11 or 12, a no-longer child pleading my sister to sing the same lullaby to me so that I could feel that time how I must have felt when I was a small child. (150 words)
I remember faintly the days of my childhood when I would fall asleep by the sweet lullaby, about something to cheer me up to grow and be successful, being sung to me by mother. Being the youngest one in the family, I was a star in myself. I remember the lullaby by heart. I also remember the time when I was 12 asking my sister to sing the lullaby to me so that I can cherish the feeling I had once experienced. (82 words)
I remember my childhood and my 12th year listening to the lullaby, the latter one for getting childhood experience again. (20 words)
And still the pain that stabs with searing fire…
I move through Vicodin-induced cloud-haze
and all I want to do is sleep. I tire
from doing nothing, wander in a daze.
