Nothing

Almost nothing. The fridge drops. You know, that sound—the clunk. I hear it every night as I lay here. The rest of the house quiet. Everyone asleep.

Almost nothing.
The fridge drops.
You know,
that sound—
the clunk.
I hear it every night
as I lay here.
The rest of the house quiet.
Everyone asleep.

Wind.
Sounds cold.
But not as cold as the winter—
this last winter,
when the heat was out
and I carried a blanket through the house.

Now, I rub my forehead,
working to stop the thoughts―
the thoughts that keep me up,
the ones that widen a gulf between me
and the asleep.

I hear the drop again,
then a new sound.
What was that?
The sound,
it shakes and shudders.
Then silence again.

Now I can’t decide.
Am I hot or cold?
I pull my legs from the blankets,
then shove them back under.
Again.
Stop.
It doesn’t matter.
Soon I will be asleep.
I hope.

I know it is not the fridge,
the winter cold,
or the furnace
that keep me awake.
But I can’t think about it.

Sleep.
Sleep.
Sleep.

© November 2015 by S. Ann Comte

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Writer. What more can be said. Actually, a lot. So, just read and find out.

One thought on “Nothing

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