Poetry of Issue #8        Page 38

The Whims of Sleep

Sleep no longer loves me.
The phone buzzes once, streaking lights
Across the ceiling. I sit up in bed,
Reading ice-cube promises in a crystal glass.
Star and moon cookies recline in a plate.
They are covered in white frosting
And sprinkled with silver dots.
I think of my red party dress.

I close the door and wait, shoes lost,
Bandage on my left little toe.
Will I grab the phone, listening carefully
To make sure the connection fits?
Insomnia builds character,
But what kind? Shadows shift.
The crystal glass trembles,
Catching the wind for a moment,
As the white curtain lifts in the dark.
Dots of light gather, as half my forehead,
My cheek, my right eye, ache with waiting.