In which I spill poetry all over you.

[megwrites]

"Night"

Some nights will break you
crack you open like an egg and all
of you will pour you out into dawn
all yolk and whites mixed, crushed
scrambled; tossed around
with a fork
On those nights, hell is high and bright and
it comes down to phone calls, waiting rooms, notifications
it comes down to long-stretched dread
You will be devoured and spit out
on those nights

Some nights will press you flat
oppressive and heavy the darkness will
permit you nothing and you
will bargain a bit of your soul for each breath, all the clocks
will defy you; red light faces and
slow ticks. The very air will
push you farther back.
You will tangle in sheets - sweating or heaving or fevered or aching
Take consolation. sometimes when
morning raises it's insolently tardy head
sometimes then, you get it all back
and swing in the hammock of late morning sleep
and unseen sunlight across your back

But then there are the nights that reward you
when all the rest of the world
is ever so still, and only you exist
you will be alone then
you will hear yourself breathe for the first time
you will speak in sacred whispers
across bedsheets, across backseats
some nights are pure prophecy
the moon will stain you blue and white
grass will rustle, leaves will rattle;
a song from the midnight hymnal

Therefore, do not count your life in days, count your life in nights
count in dreams, count in red-rimmed eyes and thankless wakened hours
count in darkness, count in stars

(c) Meg Freeman