and there’s sleep,
and then there’s the something
in the way.
do not enter the picture.
This morning at five am he called to me
I pushed up onto my elbow
rolled out and onto my feet
half angry half scared
(why in the world would he be awake now?)
except he wasn’t.
I charged into his room
towering over him, heart pounding,
and found him
sunk deep into sleep, open-mouthed.
Whatever I’d heard had come from me.
I case strange rooms like a burglar.
What will I take with me?A mental map of the carpet design,
a new pillow-turning technique,
memorized cable channel numbers,
the sound of the clock numbers flipping.
The bed that kicked me out at home
seems generous in comparison to this.
I sit at the desk and write notes
to myself on hotel stationery,
something to do when cast adrift.