Member-only story
Sleep in the Time of the Virus
A poem
Sleep comes, but it is not surrender.
I do not let go —
no melting into the soft pillow of my bed
releasing the taut ropes of muscles which are knotted up
to hold myself together.
Rather, I sleep the way I go through my days —
tight, like a drawn bow
ready to launch the arrow of anxiety at the bullseye of the future.
As I ready myself for my rigid sleep, I walk through the house,
locking doors, turning out lights.
I step over two cats
languid and loose and limp
surrendered to sleep,
luxuriously inhabiting bodies that know how to let go.
Tonight, may I sleep like a cat.
May I trust that I will not fall apart if I let go of the ropes.
May I snuggle in and trust that tomorrow will take care of itself.
May I let go. May I surrender.
May I sleep like a cat.
