I can't sleep…
Pale sunlight,
pale the wall.
Love moves away.
The light changes.
I need more grace
than I thought.
— Rumi, (1207-1273), The Essential Rumi
Notes:
I empty myself with light
Until I become morning.
— Charles Wright, from “33,” Littlefoot: A Poem
Notes:
Notes:
For half a century,
he opens the door and there it is.
Chillin’ and chilled.
Cold, smooth, white as snow.
From bottles, to cartons, to jugs.
On cereal.
With chocolate chip cookies and PB&J.
A chaser for warm apple crisp.
And then he wakes.
Blink.
A half a century later.
And this insomniac finds himself standing in front of the open refrigerator door. The same Boy who stood in a similar place on a similar summer morning in July. Bare foot. White t-shirt. Undershorts. With the freon propellant misting him with its cool breeze. And he pauses to think.
Tolerant. To intolerant.
There he finds a plastic jug of 2% flanked by “All Natural Blue Diamond Almond Breeze Almond Milk.”
And a single thought comes to his mind. The title of the 1989 biography written by Marion Meade:
Dorothy Parker: What Fresh Hell Is This?
Notes:
