Writers circle prompt: Transformation: A new sleeplessness

 

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. 
Maybe the tea will help.
I was busy during the 3 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 remember a movie—
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.  Its plot
foreshadowed 9/11, and resonates now.  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.
Our US military accompanies ICE into cities
to deport illegal immigrants.  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. 
I’m ready to pass out from exhaustion.  I am safe, maybe,
but the world has changed 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.  I wake thinking Macbeth brought
on his own tragedy.  So does the USA.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

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