Some Nights

Some nights my dreams evaporate into waves of self-recrimination with little transition from sleep to wakefulness. A weight settles onto my chest, my heart races, and my thoughts chase one another in an endless loop.

Other nights I fall into peaceful slumber, amusing vignettes keeping me company through the long night. I stretch luxuriously upon waking, and a smile remains on my lips.

I wish there were a vending machine into which I could insert coins for either choice A or choice B. I really need a B night.

Peace, people.

A Pink Bicycle

I might have been five. My parents had taken me shopping at Sears in Lubbock for my first bicycle. There was one I really wanted. It was bright pink and had purple streamers attached to the grips. It was the most beautiful bike I’d ever seen.

My mommy and daddy tried to get me interested in a different bike. I don’t remember what it looked like, only that it had a lack of streamers. I’m sure it was more in line with their meager budget, but at the tender age of five budgets didn’t matter much.

I turned my back on the offensive bike, and I’m sure I stuck out my bottom lip and crossed my arms in protest, striking a petulant pose in the middle of the busy department store. When I turned back around, I was by myself. I thought my parents had left me because I was pouting about the bicycle. Suddenly all my anger evaporated and I began to wail.

A kind woman came and took me to customer service, but I was sobbing too hard to tell anyone my name. When my parents realized I hadn’t followed them out of the bike section they hurried to customer service to find me inconsolable. They hugged and fussed over me and finally I was able to calm down. They’d been “missing” for maybe five minutes. I’m 61 and I remember the separation like it happened yesterday.

So, let’s think about these children being separated from their parents at the border, their cries haunted my dreams last night. Let’s think about the trauma our trump-led government is inflicting on innocent children. Let’s pray that the harm we are doing isn’t permanent.

We will pay for what we are doing. Maybe not now, but we will watch these young people reach adulthood with righteous anger in their hearts. And we will deserve the consequences.

By the way, I got the plain bicycle, but Daddy put streamers on the handlebars and added a squeaky horn and a white wicker basket onto the front. I embraced it. I had a change of heart.

Peace, people.

Hovering

Hovering
somewhere
between up
and down,
uneven ground
upsetting my
equilibrium.

One moment
I’m giddy,
filled with
exuberance,
capable of
great feats;
significant.

The next turn,
my anxiety takes
over, holding
me back, bringing
me down, struggling
to stay relevant
on life’s stage.

Peace is found
where I hover
one foot in
ecstacy the other
in agony, teetering
on the brink and
trying to stay me.

  
Peace, people.

Goodnight, Sleep Tight

Don’t let the bedbugs bite

(Parts inferred:

Your toes

Your fingers

Your elbows

Your nose.)

Along with

Now I lay me down to sleep

I pray the Lord my soul to keep

If I should die before I wake…

It’s a miracle I ever managed to

Sleep at all.



I understand there’s a new version of that bedtime prayer, but it’s too late for my peace of mind.

Peace, People