A Poem
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Lower Bunk
After the wail of the night’s only sleep
I lie awake in a room of girls —
a dog, a band of thieves beyond the door,
and the Mexican sky were I to want sky,
want men perched on adjacent roofs
like broken glass on the lip of a dividing wall.
Too soon for the rooster.
Too soon for the slim white goose
to beg for yet another day
through wooded lips.
Insomnia is not the country you are in.
It is the secret of yourself, again, again.
2 comments:
Oh! Beth, I noticed your labels: imnsomia, Juarez, Mexico. I am from Cd. Juarez and now live in El Paso, right across the border. Do you mind sharing with me what do your labels mean?
Ines! How tremendous to hear from one whose true home is Juarez.
I was there on a trip with my son and husband and perhaps 20 others a few summers ago. We'd gone to Anapra to help build a community bathroom, on a hill. It was one of the most extraordinarily beautiful trips; the children, in particular, were exquisite, and I took many photographs. I couldn't get the place out of my head and wrote about it in a novel due out in two years.
I was with the teen girls during that time, in a single windowless room. I'm an insomniac to begin with and also claustrophobic and, finally, quite private. The combination led to some six consecutive days without sleep. I wanted to leave the room and walk at night, but there were men on the adjacent rooftop peering down at all times and someone said there had been robberies on that street.
So that is my long explanation....
I'm so glad you stopped by,
Beth
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