Posted in Poetry

Writing, Half-asleep

Sunlight barged in through
half-opened blinds, without knocking.
Nosey sun. I deep-blinked; then again.
What was its business here so
early – without bringing coffee, no less?
People stirred in the house, the
ice maker clanked and hummed.
I began recalling the dream I was
just awakened from. I vaguely remember darkness, a dying fire, someone holding my hand… The remnant of a bawdy tune shoved its lyrics in my face.
I could still hear it. Feel it. Was it the teenagers bass next door or was that
thump-ringing a headache – just forming?
A train shuffled its feet outside
of town – it whistled in harmony with the
refrigerator and the ringing in my ears.

Wait. That’s not’s the porch light.
A glance at my clock showed 10:46 pm.
You gotta be kidding me.
It’s not morning. It’s not even 11pm.
I texted someone. The reply – go rest. I’ll apologize tomorrow for the late-night intrusion.
Slow blink. Turn the pillow to the cold side. I’m totally posting this. I’ll laugh at the responses tomorrow – and the fact that I’m sleep-writing.
If anyone reads, they’ll understand that this is what they get for befriending a writer who is awakened 7 hours too early.
Did I spell everything correctly? Punctuate?
Do I care. I do not. There is no try.
Go rest, they said. I’ll try anyway. Goodni…