Sleepless in Chong Khae
Last night the wind did not howl
but rather moved in large drafts that
started and stopped as if the world was
a giant chess board and the rooks,
castles, bishops, and pawns were made
of the wind itself. These Godzilla sized
pieces reached to the dark swirling night
clouds only to rise and be set down miles
apart. I listened as I tossed and turned
in our bed alone, but could not tell who
was winning. It was the coldest night
of the year. I could not sleep without you.
Ages Of Sleep
The young fall asleep with all
the finality of a World Trade Center
jumper. You can fireman carry
them up to bed, bumping their
sweet heads on the wall, and they
will not wake.
The old wake all too easily and
feel silly to find themselves,
ha –what, in the world again.
They do not long for being
forever in that good night, but
rather for a memory from
childhood when the world was
in twilight, silent and safe.
Checkmate Chunky took off for two days with her mother in tow to attend the 100-day celebration of a dead aunt’s funeral. These Buddhist death trips drive me crazy, but what can I do.