Sunday, February 19, 2012

snow and sleep (or lack of both)

it had been streaming past
leaving trails on our windows
but at the graveyard
the car slowed
and i saw clearly the airy tufts of ice
like dust motes shaken from the clouds
too soft, too frail
to make any difference

on the soggy ground
(not that anything would make a difference
to the occupants of the cemetery:
the ghosts and the ersatz flowers)


Inspired by observations from the car window, I scribbled this poem on the back of a bulletin on our way home from church. It is still snowing slightly, but it's not leaving much effect. *sigh* Besides some flurries/light snow last Sunday, we've had no other snow this season.

I hate February. I've been distracted and depressed, and, to top it all off, nights haven't been good lately.

I lie down to sleep and my mind won't shut off. It jabbers on and on and I have to lay there and listen to it.

I don't know what the problem is. Actually, I haven't been taking as many walks, which is most likely a contributing factor (Easily rectified, too!) Thankfully, I've remembered what a soporific effect the music of Trespassers William has on me. So many nights this week I've turned to their album Different Stars when I can't stand lying awake in the darkness any longer; it soothes my mind and soon sends me into the streams leading to sleep.

(Anna-Lynne's voice just breaks my heart.)

Also, a lot of you know this already, but I caved and made a tumblr. The world of tumblr still makes me feel slightly like I'm being swallowed whole, but I've loved being closer to certain friends.

Well, that's all, I think. Sorry this post is rather down in the mouth. Winter always gets me in the end.

I hope your Februaries have been more satisfactory than mine.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

insanity - 3 A.M.

The absence of snow wakened me last night. The edges of the earth were folding inwards, and the trees were rattling their dry bones.

I thought I saw a stranger hunched in the corner; I thought I saw a forgotten bit of sanity scuttling across the floor.

The feeling I was lying in the wrong bed presented itself to me and then refused to leave. With infrequent breathing, I lay and listened to the sound of nothing humming somewhere in the distance.

I told you not to wake me til my eyes are blue, I mumbled at the blank, dim expanse of ceiling.

The sheets were taut over my body: a cocoon, a straitjacket. I found them comforting: knowing they, at least, would hold me forever.

My thoughts hopped around the room, with heartbeats as delicate as those of winterbirds.

Oh, how silent the birds are,
was the last thought to slip across my mind, as once more I slipped into a sea of uneasy sleep.


{Though not what originally inspired this piece, I dedicate this post to the wee hours of the morning and my tendency to wake up during them and exist in an incoherent state, where I am technically awake, but still asleep in many ways.}

{Photo is the cover of Jesca Hoop's EP, Snowglobe.}