by Esther L. Hurwitz
I've got insomnia
like others have painkillers or cigarettes.
I'm up with the vampires,
and in the hours between 3 and 6 a.m.
when the light on the carport buzzes louder
than the crickets,
I don't worry that the winged ones
will get through my screens and knock over the fan.
Because on nights like this, it's too hot to touch a living soul.
The clank of the freight trains
and the drone of the red-eyes
remind me that others are up
and moving easily through the darkness.
Some are ordering eggs and coffee
in the all-night diner,
others are at home
making love, and some are getting ready
to leave for the office to beat rush-hour traffic.
The kids downstairs are just getting home
and every time I start to drift off,
they drop something heavy and it vibrates in my bones.
I could spend the hours wondering
what they're doing, but I'm no longer that curious
about other people's lives.
I roll over again, lamenting that I only
have 4 sides to choose from,
and imagine I am a powerful queen
in love with a sad handsome wizard.
But the spell is broken by two loud fast cars,
followed by a siren.
Whoever thinks it is quieter at night
has never left windows open and prayed
for the rhythms of a soft steady rain.
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