My sleeping has taken a turn for the worse. I’m getting two to four hours more often. And it’s not due to the news. It’s this squirrel in the roof, scratching, damaging the ceiling above my bed… and that’s after the fact that my quality of sleep has been poor with the bed already since 2014. This house, this environment, the isolation, for years, and it gets worse like this. I mean, animals actively keeping you awake in the ongoing process of your home being destroyed. It is such a breaking point, how much I can’t live here.
I was honored by Adam’s request to guest post with a poem. I don’t write poetry too often, but I like the challenge. Here, I have attempted to write in the Italian terzanelle form (with only slight cheating). I hope you enjoy it. Thank you. – Amy from The Bumble Files
Where there’s light, there’s dark—
in the middle toils a tangled mind,
slipping, hiding, gasping,
Will I ever be enough?
Slipping away inside her head,
in the middle toils a tangled mind.
White, chalky tablets fill her hand,
her bright smile hides her dull eyes.
Slipping away inside of her head,
strength enough for everyone except herself,
Christmas baskets clog the decor.
Her bright smile hides her dull eyes,
pills distill antiseptic smells,
its rotting memories no one claims.
Christmas baskets clog the decor,
but no one says anything.
Where there’s light, there’s dark
lurking, wrestling with grace,
slipping, falling, grasping.