The chiropractor sent me home with my left ankle taped, my neck cracked, and instructions not to sleep on my belly, so when it came time for bed, I dropped a tequila shot, laid back and closed my lids, entrails exposed to vultures of bad dreams. From the neighboring pillow, my love whispered theories of meditation, biofeedback, post- traumatic stress, and prayer. When she asked, “If a divine creator made the universe, who made the divine creator?” I mumbled, “Are you trying to talk me to sleep?” She smiled, then babbled past midnight, contemplating out loud the metaphysics of leaf production, the wonder of molecules that make up our bed, the web of my cell structure connected to hers, until I fell asleep, imagining the mitochondria of words, thinking, if god is love, let me sleep to this sound of her voice.
From In Praise of Falling by Cheryl Dumesnil. Copyright © 2010 by Cheryl Dumesnil. Used by permission of University of Pittsburgh Press. All rights reserved.