Narcolepsy
I make my way to the cellar, ashamed to expose my affliction
To any of the townsfolk who might happen into the tearoom for a visit.
Pushing aside the heavy oak door, I breathe in the cool mustiness
As it envelopes the thoughts of this morning's milky mist on the fields.
To steal away for an hour...just a while to let my eyelids claim yet
Another small victory will have to suffice for now....just an hour.
Reaching for the the rusting, olive-hued lantern that dangles at the bottom
Of the landing, I misstep, entangling my skirts and agitating my purpose.
As I tumble into the unwelcoming dirt floor, a mocking laugh escapes me, and I
Wonder if the sheer bolts of pain scrambling from my ankle to my knee
Will keep slumber at bay this Monday at two in the afternoon.
With clumsy half-effort, I pull myself up and into the faded white rocker....
Lantern intact, face smudged with cellar grime, and protesting weary eyes.
The circle of light now settling on my private corner of this underground haven,
I spy you there .... in your wooden frame on the third shelf down,
Just where I left you this morning nestled perfectly between this year's
Canned beets and a stack of old linens, colors now indeterminate.
You smile at me with an air of righteousness that gives me cause to
Chuckle and wonder whether I will see you anew in my dreams.
Copyright Tina Jordan All Rights Reserved
Image public domain via Pixabay
