by C. J. Hajek
Sometimes I find myself missing the sound of my mother's heartbeat.
|Some nights I lay awake,
eyes burning from lethargy,
mind whirring like a motor about to give.
But for all my searching,
I cannot find sleep.
The quiet is what betrays me;
it is the thing that keeps me staring.
In those moments, I miss my mother,
though she sleeps just in the next room.
I miss her so much that all of the air
escapes my lungs,
and I have to shake the tremors
from my hands.
I feel separate from the world.
The walls sheltering me,
all the windows and all the doors,
fade away to nothing,
and I am one small star in the whole,
of the great dark universe.
I do not feel alive.
I feel like static;
The silence is a violent empty,
and I think I miss the warmth of my mother;
the way she kept me safe within her,
carrying me along,
like the heart in her chest-
the one that I could hear beating
when we were together.
Maybe its that sound I miss:
that reminder of life;
that reminder of love.
And on those nights.
I cannot fall asleep until I've
shaken my mother awake,
and laid my head on her chest,
and heard that old familiar sound;
the one that settles all my bones,
like some strange lullaby.