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Insomnia
by Alicia Ostriker
But it’s really fear you want to talk about
and cannot find the words
so you jeer at yourself
you call yourself a coward
you wake at 2 a.m. thinking failure,
fool, unable to sleep, unable to sleep
buzzing away on your mattress with two pillows
and a quilt, they call them comforters,
which implies that comfort can be bought
and paid for, to help with the fear, the failure
your two old chests of drawers snickering, the bookshelves frowning
the second-hand draughtsman’s desk you bought together
for ten dollars when you were twenty yawning
the art on the walls pities you, the man himself beside you
asleep smelling like mushrooms and moss is a comfort
but never enough, never, the ceiling fixture lightless
velvet drapes hiding the window
traffic noises like a vicious animal
on the loose somewhere out there —
you brag to friends you won’t mind death only dying
what a liar you are —
all the other fears, of rejection, of physical pain, of loneliness
of losing your mind, of losing your eyes,
they are all part of this!
pawprints of this! Hair snarls in your comb,
idiot, why do you think you write,
you notice the clock is the only light in the room. |
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