Wednesday, March 18, 2020

Alyssa Trivett writes

My Mind Goes to Bed, 11:08pm
I retire to my boxcar bed,
hoping to catch a Z or three.
I didn't break any mirrors
in last night's dreams.
The humming record player
is detached from the IV.
The shutters are shut and
slippers slide under the bed.
Thoughts flicker on and off
after he and I downed a thimble of wine.
I cannonball dive to sleep
and retire before ice skating
on disinfectant floors, 
come tomorrow.
For now, 
I’ll pleasantly rest my head
at an obtuse angle 
and turn off the words
for seven and a half hours.
Maybe a full eight,
if I'm lucky.

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