Succubus

March 24 2020

I awoke to blood on the bed,

sheets stiff

with a dry brown crusting.

Was it my nose, as I slept?

The dark hours,

when time is lost

and the body's left

to run itself.

When we're at our most vulnerable

and can only trust.

In what, exactly?

That day will follow night, as it has always done?

The wisdom of the body

the life force?

Who knows what goes on

while dreams distract us

and we are swaddled in darkness.

While we snore, grunt, stretch

mumble nonsense words.

Grind teeth and bite tongues

and drool unbecomingly.

Incessantly turn,

churning blankets into knots

or uncovering ourselves.

Sometimes even walk,

like eyeless automatons

in the dead of night.

The bleeding stopped

all on its own.

Another night lost

to time's black hole.

As my body slept, my nose bled

my mind travelled who knows where.

Bad dreams

        . . . night-mares

                  . . . a child's night terrors.

The succubus, stealing my breath.

I don't recall my dreams, I rarely do.

A shrill alarm intrudes.

Half awake

and all forgotten.

When I googled to confirm my definition, I was informed that succubus is the female demon who visits sleeping men, while incubus is the male version attending to women. I always thought the mythology was that they lay on you at night, so you felt immobilized and unable to breathe. But it appears that the more common myth is that they're having sex! I stuck to breathless, needless to say.

The physiological explanation is that this imagery occurs as you're surfacing to wakefulness through a light stage of REM sleep, when you're dreaming but your body is still paralyzed. Which woulds explain the anxiety of being assaulted and helpless at the same time.

The interpretation is cultural. So traditionally, demons. But maybe today, extra-terrestrials? Republicans?