Last Asleep, First Awake

Though I stiffen,
Morbidly corporeal,
I offer up a sigh —

And still I vie
For that paper-thin
Morning light,

An imprint for
A dragged body —

Why have I made
These barriers inside myself?
And as if in answer:

The coin, I think,
Spins evenly, though
One side always hides itself

The day has come,
Dreaming body,
Let’s fall into

Her arms.

***

First published in Hearth & Coffin, the epitome of a generous and well edited independent literary magazine, discontinued just this year. This appeared in volume 2, issue 1, March 2022.

These very late and very early hours, the transition between night and morning, are a recurring theme in my poetry. I keep trying to capture, with varying levels of success, the inevitable uncanny feeling that comes during that bridge from too late to too early.

One of the magical things about writing, and writing poetry especially, is the way ideas come of their own accord — the sense that I’m reaching for something that I don’t yet recognize. In this case, I think I was exploring the feeling that eventually comes when you stay up until sunrise — that you’re breaking some kind of rule, and eventually you pass a point of no return. By 4 or 5 AM, it’s so close to morning that grabbing a little sleep is no longer a viable option.

A true sleepless night is sort of a gap between yesterday and tomorrow. Once you fall into it, you find that it haunts the rest of your day as you try to climb back out.