Called

and I go

down into it, the hall again
(streetlights, blinds)

all the same all the dark

down into it and do what must be done
with my body, with the patience
that I do not have

fellow sufferer, fellow sleeper, not-

sleeper, seeker

night boat, little sail

in the slow air in the rounded dark
inside the broken night

rudderless   elliptical

in the stitched-together minute

minute

minute

365 x night x 8                            (new)

x 4
x 2
x 8 again                                      (despair, iron)
x 2

x 1, x occasional, x rarity        (fever, monsters, light)

= now

= again

once
 

Credit

Copyright @ 2014 by Lisa Gluskin Stonestreet. Used with permission of the author.

About this Poem

“‘Called’ arose out of years of waking in the night with my son, helping him return to sleep—an experience that I found exasperating, exhausting, and occasionally transcendent. The mental math was one mechanism for moving myself toward the calmer end of the spectrum.”
Lisa Gluskin Stonestreet