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.