Don’t Move

I am so cold and so alone.

It is nearly silent now, this dead hour, this dead dark hour. I can only hear the soft worrying noises of night. I can hear a lone distant car becoming more distant. Free to go – not tethered like me.

Tethered, yes that is me – tied to this room, this house, this life, this never ending wakefulness. Tethered to the shore perhaps but at the same time cast loose to the night – floating on a dark river of exhaustion and uncertainty and fear.

I dare not leave this room. You will hear me move. You will sense me. Awake: you are an endless list of demands and desires.

For now you are asleep at last. I can hear your light breathing. But soon you will reawaken and call for me.

I wish… what do I wish? Do I wish I could pass this servitude to someone else – just for a day, no just for an hour, no just for a few minutes?

No, I wouldn’t.

I want you to demand only me, to want only me, to cry out for only me.

But just let me move, my precious baby, just let me move, just let me for one whole sweet night go back to my own room, to sleep, dreamless, warm in my own bed.

dark with lights

Copyright 2016 by Paula Harmon. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission

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