Challenging Poetry

rituals of sleep

I build my bed carefully, needing
the touch of each
blanket as I snap them into place.

sheets to cool me, first—the yellow flowered
ones Mama bought for me when I first
left home for college.

the fuzzy red blanket next,
because it's soft even through the sheet,
and then the fleece I cut
and knotted a fringe for at the same time
I did for all my siblings

next the quilt Mama tied for me
when I was young and she quilted,
made of patchwork squares in mostly
blues, then the snuggie with pockets
Mama bought for me one Christmas
I sometimes wear when the cold is too deep
to live comfortably downstairs.

next, the afghan Mama knit for me
when I graduated, green with browns
showing through, and finally, the purple fuzzy
at the top, that I bought at a stop
when I was traveling home by train once
across the mountains and the blankets
were too thin for my blood.

every night, I lay them straight,
and then slip between the sheets, letting
the weight of love anchor me
while I drift and soar and dream.

April 2—Sleep—write a poem about sleep (or insomnia)