Writers circle prompt: Transformation

 

Dreams (and gassiness) wake me at 2am and keep

me awake, my head spinning, its earth rhythms pulling

on the moon which pulls at the rivers of my body.  High

tide, low tide.  Blood flows in estuaries while head pings

Someone’s in my apartment! 

No one is here. 

The sofa bed is closed with black cat sleeping on its back

looking sweet—my good luck charm.  I bury my nose in her

softness and feel the first burp moving up my esophagus.  

There is also a river, one body length, mouth to anus with

the digestive track in between.  Standing helps the flow, and

so, I wait by the kettle for a cup of chamomile-lavender tea,

then head to my writing corner and its ever-present laptop.

The aroma of the tea surrounds me.  Together with the

early morning hours the aroma heightens the magic,

and so, I tell the truth—

dreams and gas—

the first I don’t remember, and the second is undeniable. 

I was busy during the 4 hours of my sleeping, of that

I am sure.  Shuffling through the themes of my life,

splintered and unstable due to the evils of today

unravelling our democracy and allowing cruelness around

the world—even here. 

I stop.  Waiting.  And watch a movie—skip through a film—

Siege, a 1998 Denzel Washington film

in which the US Army’s 101^st airborne division

enters NY City to put a stop to terrorism.  It’s a plot

that foreshadows 9/11.  It shows a few

Palestinians bombing buses and buildings,

while the troops apply torture to find the leader

and hold thousands of young Palestinian-Americans

in holding pens.  This cruelty is only ended when

Denzel (of the FBI) finds the leader of the terrorists and

ushers the military out of New York City.

How did I pick this film?  It hits too close to home  

as our US military accompanies ICE into cities to deport

illegal immigrants.  I think this is what keeps me busy

at night—running and hiding from unregulated violence

released on our own citizens.  Acts of violence pervade

the news.

I feel I might get sick,

but it’s only gas

working its way out of my system in short violent bursts

that interrupt the good regulation of my body. I’m ready

to pass out from exhaustion.  I am safe, maybe,

but the world has transformed too much for normal

sleep processes to calm the rivers flowing inside of me. 

I hear the echo of Macbeth’s voice crying Sleep no more

but fall into a deeper sleep until the 8:00am alarm

wakes me.  And I’m thinking Macbeth brought

on his own tragedy.  So does the USA.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

Writer's Circle Prompts.

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