I don’t always get a good night sleep. I can be too cold, too hot, too awake…or pushed into anatomically impossible positions by two adorable cats that take up a disproportionate amount of blanket real estate.
And then, of course, is the sleep itself. I have become a very light sleeper and often have ‘busy dreams’ that see me more tired in the morning than when I retired the night before. Sigh.
This poem is a narrative about one recent episode of sleep.
Sleeping
Disturbed
Dream
Distorted
Fading
Darkness
Sensing
Monsters
Fear
Breathe
Running
Hide
Turn
Fight
Escape
Stirring
Forgetting
Remembering
Warmth
Comfort
Eyes
Close
Sleep.
Angele Toomey Poetry 