Hungry for Sleep

Nov 24 2011

I burrow into sheets

quilts, duvets, and fleece,

huddle underneath

heavy comforters;

a thin-skinned infant

clutched in fetal warmth.

But must eventually emerge

into the cold dark world

of morning.

Its leaden sky

gun-metal light,

wet snow

thin blanket of ice.

Hungry for sleep

craving sweets

my reserves are low.

Then after work

I again return

to dusk,

its sullen skies

and stingy light,

ruts of frozen snow.

Stumbling through days

in a sleepless haze

I am an automaton,

going through the motions.

While friends have returned

from getaways

red from tropical sun.

Who, for the rest of winter

will never adjust,

chill cutting right to the bone.

But still

I can’t help but imagine

hot dry sand,

underfoot

between my toes.

Even as I chose to stay

stoic, and staid.

Smug to have endured

adversity,

a snob of weather.

Including those postcard days

that have me wide awake

  —  the brilliant light

and cobalt sky,

the blinding white

of perfect virgin snow.

When a high pressure system

blasts its way in,

and sleep

can happily wait.