Insomniac, I wake, open the envelope of the day and

shove another act inside

as if the day were expandable, made of pleats,

an extraordinary accordion capable of melody

every time I squeeze, not

some exhausted drone, a whine or tumble of

falling keys, of rain-soaked shoes, of numb-finger

stitches, belated appointments and warmed-over meals,

the bones of my spine dully aching, rain

dashing at the window.

Shove too hard and the day snaps back

spits you out

yellow smear across the sidewalk, all your sorries useless

as a sweater raveling holes against the freezing wind.

Notes–all photos taken on the West Quoddy dock on October 27, 2018.

This sonnet is for the students in my Poetry as Social Action class at NSCAD; their challenge was to try to compose at least one sonnet of some sort this week. Just so they know, I too am wakeful with poetry.