Every night my place of peace awaits me, whether dark or
Under the light of a dazzling full moon.
No one but self joins me on this journey through the
Ether, through that thin curtain that falls
In between the waking world and that of dreams.
Restorative, perhaps, for
Only my body which lies in heavy sleep, but for my mind —
Preternatural, phenomenal, a trip to an alternate reality that’s
Home to countless stories, each able to be lived in by me and
Remembered, if I am quick to write or tenacious in my grasp
Every morning upon waking.
Night-land, dream land, nocturnal world, you are my anchor
In a by-day living world of problems, hurt, and
Anxieties. My heart and restless soul find rest in you.
My first poetry collection, Mother Scorpion.
I read poems to you
in the brightness of your room,
and let you relate
to the quip and wit,
sister sleeping on my arm,
a tender moment —
you love touchable
words, thick, whipping cream paper,
silliness and guile,
a young one snoring,
a young one still listening,
a mother at peace —
words that slide like smoke through air,
quietude falls everywhere.