Will you please come to me in my dreams, after three and
before four, when the pain is less and sleep comes best to my sleepless brain?
The pain in my mouth has almost
gone with the sunrise. A root canal on
the horizon, like the dawn. Three Advil
after clammy night sweats, and sleep tries to claim me again.
Will you please come to me in my dreams, after four and
before five, when my thoughts express my hopelessness, and my soul needs its rest?
The pain came back in crashing
waves as the sun appeared without warning.
Gray-pink light from the fetal position, and there is no fucking way...
no fucking way.
Will you please come to me in my dreams, after six and
before seven, when the sun is raw as an exposed and dying nerve?
The pain isn't all in my body, or
in my hanging head. It’s closer to my
soul. And like anyone could tell you, my
soul is dead.
Will you please come to me in my dreams, if I have them,
after eight or nine or ten? When the sun
hangs low and the night comes back, and I’m too tired to feel.
The pain is no more. It has gone the way of my soul. Rest is inevitable, if rest is what it should
be called. Maybe just a break between
struggles... with what’s real.
Will you please come to me in my dreams, when my dreams are
the truth, and my open eyes look at what can’t be so?
A new
pain. What is real. Above the lies.
Copyright © 2012 Bill Friday
Ouchie...no bueno. The good news is Dr. Barry patched you up, and you've got a new lease on (your teeth's) life.
ReplyDeleteI think a root canal could be switched out for anything in this poem. I remember feeling this way when I broke up with a boyfriend many (thank god) moons ago. I'd just sit on the floor and drink vodka and look at old pictures of us.
Maybe now, there should be a sequel. Like, "That Sucking Hole in My Jaw" or, "Advil and Alcohol Doesn't Cure Everything But At Least They're Safe When Used as Directed".
DeleteJust a thought.
How is it that I'm just now finding out that you write poetry. Love this free verse. Ugg, just had a porcelain crown repaired, feeling your pain.
ReplyDeleteI guess I'm just an enigma, wrapped in a mystery, with a smelly old fish inside to keep people away. And I can now report that all teeth are happy once again.
DeleteOh god...and you have that pesky blurry number captcha! {sigh} Aaalllriiight, I'll put up with it I guess...
ReplyDeleteAnd I hate those too. Sometimes, I click through several to get to one that makes any sense at all. Good to know you're not just a bot after all. Ant thank you for reading.
Delete