sleep

Minnow haiku

in the spaces in

sleep I haiku, recall but

one line when awake

 

another night in

sweaty sheets I plot a whole

novel, also gone

 

every day I try

to mark time, just moments, brain

leaps, thin, minnow-bright

 

beach-star dances, dawn

waves enjoying one final

twinkle before fade

 

Photo: Josie Tebo

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Eyeball

 

my eyeball is scratched or

there’s a filament of lint on it

and I lie here and wonder if

I’ll go blind

a bit melodramatic

more like think if

I’ll still feel it in the morning, if not

will I remember

the ghost of lint past?

contact lenses

I look better but I don’t see better

And my big toe hurts

at the side where

the nail’s cut too short

maybe it’s infected

or my sheet is tucked too tight

maybe it’s cancer

we don’t talk anymore

in bed because

you’re not here

and

there’s a sort of pride in holding all one’s own problems

inside one’s own head but

oh well

good night.

 

Photo: https://unsplash.com/@alia_wilhelm

 

 

Six Months

 

Six months I’ve known you

182 days

I’ve seen you asleep and awake

in so many ways

 

That transformative moment

as your eyes roll and close

slipping between time

where do you go?

 

My beautiful, funny, round-headed thing

with your gurgles and growls

a patient, determined little one

Love: mine and all of ours

 

How many times have I looked at you

touched you, waited til

I see your belly expand, a hand twitch with life

so you’re alive still

 

I need new words for your vocabulary

and the way you move

Watching as you change each day

grow and improve

 

The love for a child

gentle. wild. free

the adventures and dangers to come… fatal cliffs… my heart!

But right now, you’re with me