Paula Swanson | + Follow Poet |
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Insomnia

Rhythmic sound of a distant train as it travels on an old section of track.  It's lonesome 
whistle, carried by the wind to my ears, pulls at something inside me.

The train and it's chorus fade off into the night.

But there is no silence.  Not really.  The tree fogs, toads, crickets and a myriad of other 
insects fill the night with their voices.  The only time they are silent is when an unknown 
wanders too close.  But then the silence is over, for they must sing to find love.

If I strain to hear, I can just make out the neighbors dog barking.  At either a coyote, 
raccoon, skunk or blowing leaf.  Each must be dealt with by the same bark.

The kitchen clock keeps me company with it's ever true tick, tock, tick, tock.

Each tick tells me I am still awake.  Each tock takes me deeper into the night.

Apparently, the bathroom sink needs a new washer.  It's occasional drip a reminder.

The hum of the refrigerator when the ice maker kicks on.  The chatter of newly formed 
cubes as they empty into the hopper.

Lying next to me, my husbands breathing regular and strong.  More comforting than 
fresh washed sheets.  To know he is beside me, puts me at ease.

But then he starts to snore.  Not gently, nor quietly.  Not something you can fall asleep 
to.

So I rise and go to the living room.  Closing the bedroom door behind me.  I sit back on 
the sofa and listen to our home talk to me.  The turned of TV gives a static charged 
click.  The moths hurl themselves at the front window.  Trying to reach the light I have 
on inside.  Tiny bodies and wings making curious "flit' noises as they hit the glass.

There is always the pop and groan of the house as it settles in for the night.  Tonight is 
no exception.  One catches me unawares and scares about two years out of me.

I sit back on the sofa and try to let my mind go blank.  Not as easily done as said.  But 
slowly, eventually, I am relaxing bit by bit.  My eyes become drowsy.  My limbs heavy.  I 
tip over where I sit to land my head on a soft sofa pillow.  Then, finally, the sandman 
takes pity on me and I sleep.

Copyright © Paula Swanson | Year Posted 2010

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