Poem: Night Poem by Lydia A. Cyrus

Night Poem

Words by Lydia A. Cyrus
​Image by Christine Stoddard
​QuailBellMagazine.com

A bed made by my grandfather: white frame,
iron bars a skeleton twisting upward. The bones settle
 

like keys, attempting sound:
The four corners restless
 
arms, legs, and other. Sweating through the night;
 To the furthest degree
 
of sanity. No one else is there. White illuminates
the waves of darkness, preventing the shutting
 
off of my white light. A borrowed light blinking
in sync with the shutting off of lamps. Little strings
 
every where like veins, pulling the actor into place. Pluck one
 sever another. Soon there are swirls
 
of mind: through a crack draining
into the garage while I remain quilted in sleep.