The space between alive and asleep

She tries to sleep, tries to lie still

as a tree, but she feels

her roots splintering. The city’s lights

swarm through the window. 

Bits of her broken history

rush through her head. She reminds herself

to take deep calm breaths, 

but her head is spinning like a planet

from her grandmother’s house

with the wicker chairs, to the days she spent

folded in the closet, in the dust,

to the black leaves frozen

in the gutter, to the tunes

she heard on TV. She stumbles

out of bed and opens

the window. Night air

glides through the room

like a swan. 

She tries to time her breaths

to the wind.


Written for We Write Poems wordle 11.


6 thoughts on “The space between alive and asleep

  1. Oh yea … I’ve been there so many times. So frustrating. At least it was until a friend told me to keep a notepad and pencil by the bed so I could empty my head of whatever it was chewing on. This is a wonderfully crafted poem, visual and wind-scented. Very enjoyable read.

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