3am Thanksgiving (poem)
(C) 2013, Brenda Eckels Burrows, aMGC

Sleep, that most mecurial
Of mistresses
Plays games with me lately

Tonight, exhausted
By the day long
Orgasmic American
I fell asleep
In a chair
Holding a small dog
An empty pie plate
A fork
And balancing
A tablet on my lap

Mid game of Bubble Poke

Sleep, why then?
While family gathered around
Watching an old TV Western
Lauding my ability
To whip up 3 pies
In less than 2 hours?

And, Sleep,
Why now?
After falling asleep in the car
Balancing the dog and the tablet again

After being loved
And helped into soft
Fuzzy PJ’s
By my love

You were so sweetly seductive
At 8pm, stealing the chance to
Embrace me
Before his kisses had even stopped
The gentle rain on my lips

You cloaked yourself
In that soft white duvet
Curling against my back
Pushing me down with warmth

Oh, but now,
It is a different story
Like a woman scorned
You stand just outside
My grasp
What did I do, sleep
Do offend you so much
That you would leave me
In such miserable estate?

I have lumbered out
Wandering with my cane
To the bathroom and back
Just in case
You recieved some secret communique
From my kidneys
You and they, however,
Were silent as tombs.

How is it Sleep,
That this body
Mangled by MS
Is not curled, frozen,
And set so that
I may flex an ankle?
Twist a knob?

Have you entered some unholy pact
With those denom lesions
Ensuring I can walk
But not find blissful,
Healing rest?

I tire of this game Sleep
If you will not grace me
With your tender caress
Simply for the love of me
I will elope

I will reject your hateful ways
And fall into the arms
Of the Benedryl induced

I will gladly pay
The price in blood
For her worn red light
3 hours bliss
Even as I long