I stayed up too late watching TV.
My husband went to bed hours ago.
I brush my teeth, use the toilet, wash my face,
Then shuffle through dark in slow motion,
Sock feet sliding on wood floor.
I lift the blanket and melt into
An toasty bed oven.
The pillow is cool, the way I like it,
And under the covers is warm.
Hubby’s throat is a vocal rainstick,
Then glottals trade places with sighs
And blown-out puffs of air.
I start to feel throbs of a headache
That haunts me sometimes lying down.
But the pillow is cool, the way I like it,
And under the covers is warm.
Soon high temps tingle my toes.
I engage in my nightly routine:
Each foot uncovers its sibling
Then both kick footwear to the floor,
Shoving socks out between sheet layers.
My pillow is cool, the way I like it,
And under the covers is warm.
A poem of gratitude comes to my mind.
I build it in dark and silence,
First for myself, but then,
Obligated to write it down,
I set my clock lamp to low brightness –
Enough to see journal page penlines,
Not enough to see what I’m writing.
After I turn off the lightsource,
I slowly sink into a sleeping.
Outside the rain softly patters.
Beside me, my man Velcro snores.
My mouth guard squeezes my top teeth.
My pillow is cool, the way I like it.
And under the covers is warm.