Tonight's Poet Corner: Six Minutes
Six Minutes
by Belinda Roddie
Six minutes before I'm supposed to sleep,
and six minutes before I'm supposed to dream.
I know in the end what I see with my eyes closed
will be intangible once they open again, and
I will not remember a thing. The bed holds me
up like a mother's back, and
I'm carried into a new world.
Six minutes before I'm supposed to let my body
relax, so I can stretch and grow a little taller, so I
can pop my bones back into place, like tools
into their appropriate slats and shelves. The only thing
I cannot calm down is the raging yarn ball of nerves
knotted up where I cannot touch it,
where I cannot see it,
where I cannot make it stop.
by Belinda Roddie
Six minutes before I'm supposed to sleep,
and six minutes before I'm supposed to dream.
I know in the end what I see with my eyes closed
will be intangible once they open again, and
I will not remember a thing. The bed holds me
up like a mother's back, and
I'm carried into a new world.
Six minutes before I'm supposed to let my body
relax, so I can stretch and grow a little taller, so I
can pop my bones back into place, like tools
into their appropriate slats and shelves. The only thing
I cannot calm down is the raging yarn ball of nerves
knotted up where I cannot touch it,
where I cannot see it,
where I cannot make it stop.
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