What a distant island the rested inhabit
I can barely see it through the fog of my fatigue.
It is a sunny island,
where the clocks are all in sync,
where the denizens eat beautiful fruit
that tastes as bright and sweet as they feel;
where kind words are spoken
and everyone, even the aged,
is embued with dewy youth.
On this now distant island
everyone sleeps when the sun goes down
and wakes in the morn.
At night when the moon is up
everyone's breath evens out and sails up
to the clear night skies
in unison.
But months of waking
to feed the baby how many times a night
waking to change pee-soaked sheets,
waking because of the heat
or the cold
waking because the baby snores
waking and not finding my way back
has exhiled me from this place—
made me an unnatural voyeur
and cast me off in a little leaking boat
farther and farther away
from the spot in my bed
where my body has left its mold
the shape of stolen dreams.
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