At Rest

Sept 18 2013


Her face softens
in sleep.
One hand
clutching at wrinkled sheets,
a frazzle of hair
undone on the pillow.

A girl, again,

her features slack in repose.

The years dropping off
like weight from her shoulders,

until she's lost, who knows where;
paper-thin lids, unnaturally calm
teeth and jaw unclenched.

In the green glow
of a bedside clock
I watch,
a mix

of transgression

protectiveness.
Her laser eyes, turned in
from the world outside,
a sigh, held breath
short shriek.
Her bed, undefended,

her rest

beset by dreams.

Which she rarely remembers, or wished she'd forget
in the prickly sweat
of awakening;

covers in knots

the familiar set of her face.

Except today,
when she will open her eyes
with a vague sensation of watchfulness,
feeling inexplicably safe.