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.