Februray 15th Checkpoint

Poems to go into the book:
Paper Airplanes
Prayer Request
Sister Jean
Christmas Wish
Tessa
Brandon (super re-edited)
Niall (super re-edited)
Ave Maria (super re-edited)

Dark

Last night, I laid awake for hours,
listening to the gentle creaks of my house
and watching the shadows curve through my room
as headlights passed on the road by my window.
I can’t remember when I finally surrendered to sleep,
only knew the hum of my alarm clock meant morning had arrived.
And I had spent another night,
without retaining dreams.

I need something to record my thoughts
as I fall asleep.
I want to know what I’m thinking
in those last few seconds
between consciousness and sleep.
I don’t remember.
I don’t remember the last time I had a dream
that meant something,
made me wake up in a sweat of realization
because my life was changed.
I know my best thoughts must come to me
while I’m sleeping.
There’s no other way to explain
why I haven’t had good idea
since I learned to sleep with the light off.

It never used to be this way.
Afraid of the dark ‘til I was sixteen,
they said I had a problem.
A fear of dead people under the bed
forced me to sleep with my legs crossed
from the time The Sixth Sense came out
‘til my legs had grown in that direction
and it was just more comfortable to sleep that way.

I used to lie awake thinking of the things I would take
if something were to happen in the night.
A fire,
a robber,
a monster.
My childhood blanket,
my picture album,
the box of letters from my grandparents.
A bag in my closet was packed just before bed every night
and emptied before school in the morning
until I was thirteen.

My fathers bed went unslept in
for four years. He spent his nights
dozing by the foot of my bed,
so if anything were to happen,
he’d be there to protect me.
These were the worries I passed along to him.
And even with him lying there
the bathroom light constantly crept through my doorway
after the house began to get dark.

Until
electricity prices went up
and sleeping with the light on
wasn’t okay anymore.
And growing up meant
I had to let go of my irrational fears
and let my father sleep in his room again.

So I taught myself to close my eyes tight
before I flipped off my light switch,
not open them again ‘til morning.
And in the darkness of shut lids
I found only thoughts
in those times when I couldn’t sleep.
A good night’s rest didn’t happen.
Instead I found myself waking every twenty minutes
with another idea.

But lack of sleep caused me
to count myself to sleep,
breathe in patterns until all thoughts were gone.
And now, I don’t remember the last time
I had a thought that meant something.

Sunday Afternoon Love

Sunday afternoons
in the basement of a church,
you made me believe.
You stole my shoe, wouldn’t give
it back for two months.
You said you had lost it but
flirting is in your
nature and you couldn’t stop.
Til you realized that
you cared about me and you
kissed me in the hall.
Sunday afternoon love is
a beautiful thing.