JULY 14, 2010 5:42AM

Upon Waking

Rate: 28 Flag


The first

waking moment trembles, like

the tree leaves in the velvet wind

outside my bedroom window.  My eyes

consent to the light or darkness and seek

a recognized bit of truth - the floor, a well-

studied ceiling, or the regular, sturdy view out

the window.


Right before

I can feel that precious sting, that hopeful

pierce of joy because I am awake yet

again, I hear or feel or somehow

sense the rest, the other as it looms. I know

to give it a second. Let it shape itself

and approach. Sometimes it feels like I am beneath

a just fluffed sheet, stretched out over

the bed as it begins its fall. Scarcely

but methodically I feel it drape me, swathing

my naked body. My resolute companion, it

will be there at every waking now, like

floor, the ceiling, the window’s tired view.


I half

sigh and half moan aloud, then close my eyes

while I accept what is not and what will ever

be. Waking to this tires me more

than the miles I walk in the evening dearth, more

than the sleepless nights and weary

mornings, more than believing in a past

that no one else can see. (Hard truths sink

in slowly, like rain pounding against a drought-

wrought field in late July.)



myself, I slide my feet

on the floor, not firmly, not grounded, but leaving

footprints anyway.



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15, tuesday nights, poem, poetry

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And now, I am going to bed. (So I can wake up in two hours.)

Sweet dreams, people.
I swear you get better each poem I read
Keep the poetry coming...
There is not enough recognition of the Poets here on OS. This makes me want to get up, just to see if I can feel the way this poem makes me feel.
Waking Up Slowly. Good grief.
You gonna 'hit' the Sack in morn?
You no wear a potato Sack in bed?
I sleep good in scratchy potato Sack.
You suggest sleeping in a sack naked?
Ya remind me of my VA mental ward?
If we can't sleep we call Bush/Obama.
We share all the jokes we told at night.
Can't sleep? Plow the fields in pajamas.
Pick fingerling potatoes, shallot, onions,
and Yodel foreign cuss words at the mule.
Itchy. Ya snore good in a potatoes burlap.
Then, Ya dream Ya naked in a onion patch.
Pleasant dreams. Hope no bedbug bite toe.
awwww, carrie, I know where you are coming from, but you still write it so well. Tiny phrases like "the regular, sturdy view" say so much...not to ignore the other, but just keep it in your peripheral vision, okay?
What a beautiful, heartfelt, moving piece of writing. Thanks so much for creating and sharing this.
'trembles, like

the tree leaves in the velvet wind
' Sumptuous writing and poignantly true. I ache.
I am so moved by your words here. So moved.
This is very fine writing.
Truth through poetry--I like this.
I have to see your others. this is terrific! r.
You captured so much about morning waking in this. How the real world trickles in while some of the sleep world remains present, the feet on the floor, a few stagger steps, and then here you are.
Sad and empty and beautiful. I am selfish I fully admit that. I feel strange to tell you after such a sad and tender poem, but I have missed your poems and the way I link them to my own heart and sad and empty feelings.
Thanks, Julie. I try, and sometimes it's pure crap, and sometimes it's less pure crap and actually post-able.
And sometimes I just go back to bed. Hope you got some sleep, too.

Patrick, I will. I will. It seems to be how my brain works, or stumbles through.

askme...... I feel like I have a sweet band of readers, plenty large enough, who read and comment and offer me good support. Thank you being one of them.

Mr. James, I was so tired, so tired. And now I'm up again, having slept naked in a sack (my bed). No bedbugs, thankfully, just a few mosquito bites to scratch in my sleep.

Kim, so are you. Thank you.

Brian, I'm glad you like those tiny phrases. Those are usually what come to me first, before I even know what the poem is about. Thanks.

Ume, thank you for reading and commenting. I'm glad you enjoyed it.

Zul, shhhhhhhhhh, can you hear that velvet wind? It's got a special sound... thank you. Very much.

anna1liese, thank you. I'm moved that you're moved. And I mean that in all seriousness.

Thank you, ladyslipper. Your words and visit here are appreciated.

More later, I am sooooo late for work. (What a surprise!)
"I half
sigh and half moan aloud, then close my eyes
while I accept what is not and what will ever

Beautiful. Now get to work! xo
I wake to sleep and take my waking slow
and learn by going where I have to go....

I forget who wrote that but I'll enjoy your poem again and again.

thinking (because you're writing and posting these now) that the burden of that shroud/sheet is becoming the smallest bit lighter day by day, and that's a good thing. xo
I'm so happy to see something new from you. The last stanza is my favorite. Those uncertain footprints prove you are still here.
Oh my - oh my - I can so relate and this was such a wonderful poem. Good to see you back.
Thank you, sophieh. This really and truly is my truth. The pain of waking. Thank you.

Thank you, Jonathon. My older ones are long gone, but I'm going to try to go back posting a poem once-a-week. More than that is too much, and less than that makes me lazy.

greenheron, thank you. That is precisely what I was going for (once I figured out what the poem was about).

Thank you, elisa, thank you. Your visit here means so much to me. (I soooo need to schedule a trip thru Atlanta!)

Ohhhh, rita. Rita, Rita. You're not selfish. We just totally get each other. It will be wonderful to meet you. Ten weeks, yes? Close to that, I think.

Thank you, Duane. So kind of you to visit. xo
feel that precious sting...this poem let me do just that.
Sweet Grif, thank you. And yes, I got right to work. Health Care Reform is my life. (much like last summer)

hi, Catherine. I love that poem, by Theodore Roethke. Thank you for quoting it, and for reading here.

femme, I am trying, really trying. And writing is inherent to me, so... it seems to part of healing. Thank you. I still think of your warm smile and gentle eyes.

Thanks, Stellaa. Will do my best.

Thank you, sweet Lisa. I agree. Those footprints.... some days that's all I leave behind, but it's a start, right? Thanks again for visiting.

Oh, Trilogy, I'm so glad this one works for you. Thank you for the warm welcome. It means much to me.

catch-22 - thank you! Then it worked, right? yay
I can feel your every word. I keep waiting to see hope again and realize it is to soon. What you write is beautiful...
Thank you, kateasley. It's kind of you to read and to comment here.

Ohhhhhh, ll2.... I am flattered that you can feel it. That's always my goal, to share and gain mutual understanding through writing. And yes, too soon for hope. Just trying to get by. Just getting by.

Thanks, all. You are all kind and generous readers.
The first waking moment trembles...

Oh, how those words resonate for me... the trees rustle outside my window and remind me every morning. Now that I can finally sleep, I can't. Not sure I'm ready to write yet, but sure glad you are. It's like a small part of the world is right again.
Sweet Ranting. Those first reminders.... so hard. Every morning. Ugh. How I wish to be able to take a morning off from it and let it not be true, just once.... my mind does wander there sometimes.

My grief book says that the first stage of grief is retreating. And that's what I did, and what comes naturally to all of us. I wrote every day, but privately, in my little journal. I still do that, but posting a teeny bit, too. It will come back for you, in time.

Love to you, dearie.
Wonderful words to express what is unexpressable. R
I'm so sorry that I am late.
Sweetheart...I just can't tell you how this pierces my heart. It hurts for you. It cries for you. My dear friend, I wish you were closer so an embrace were possible. I hope that somehow, you feel it across the miles...
Oh, that wishing for a morning off (from what is not) that is never possible . . .
hey, women, Sheila, OM, and Harriet. (Sorry I missed these comments - I'm not so bright these days.)

Thanks, Sheila. Your words are kind.

OM, I feel it. Thank you. I'm ok. You know some days are worse and some days are a little less worse. I'm ok. Thanks.

Harriet - I try try try not to crave those mornings off too much, to put off the truth, to pretend. Though I admit, sometimes I deny and pretend just a little, just for a few minutes. That helps the really really bad days.
Beautiful. I'm so happy to see you back.
Read aloud, this has a wonderful, graceful movement toward the final touch, the impression you leave on the reader. I'm glad for the "anyway".
"I hear or feel or somehow sense the rest, the other as it looms...." That's when I crawl even deeper under the covers...
I'm not a morning person... but your description of all your senses awakening... makes me want to stay in bed a few more moments just to experience it!