written By
Mid-night
my body tantrums
to be heard.
The first time
I thought I was dying;
I wrote a note
that said only
I love you so much.
Just in case.
Now I know to call
this a panic attack.
Nothing is wrong –
I mean nothing more
than usual, which these days
is a collective meditation
on when to scream
and when to sob
and the jenga stack
of reasons
piling higher, higher,
all wobbly.
First I am aware
of the holy
church purr of the barred owl
blessing the night.
Crickets. The dream-
shattering scream repeats,
so human you open
the window
to be sure it is not.
The central air
pours cold comfort
into the world, too little
to make a difference –
but the house wants
to equalize imbalances
in pressure, in temperature.
The air flows out, tugging
hairs on my arms
a river wanting to be bound
to roots like slow mud
a river wanting to ferry
the slight things it meets
loving and undiscriminating.
I suck in hard to taste the night
but nothing fights hard enough
to land upstream. To meet me.
The first time these screams
tore into my dreaming
I called the police,
the operator chirping and chatty.
Satan weasels, she said, fishers.
Then she guessed my location
within a mile, a cheerful carny
where you can’t see the con.
Triangulation, she said.
You’ve got good neighbors.
You’re the fourth to ring in,
so that’s nice,
in case of murder.
I am not quite
reassured by neighbors
or the holes
that hold their shape.
How much can you trust,
how much can you love as –
I shut the window
go back to sleep
before color
can seep into
the silhouettes,
before birdsong
bubbles and
boils over.
