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  • Alice Wyatt

Nightmare

My Brain in the Night




Slipping

Slidding

Careening

Colliding

Tumbling

Toppling

Plummeting

Plunging




I return to my bed. WHUMP! Sightless eyes behind sealed lids. Feather pillow cradles sweaty head. Handmade quilt moves up and down with each quavering breath. To the left. A cat. My fingers search. Two ears. A damp nose. Whiskers twitch. Purrs rumble under soft fur. To the right. A body shifts, curls around me, protective.


“A nightmare?”

Yes.


“You ok?”


Yes. No. Maybe. Yes. Now I am.


“Mmmmmm”



My Brain in the Night is not my friend. My Brain in the Night waits until I retire, finds the skeleton key hidden deep in my soul, goes racing through the dungeon of my past. Cell doors clang open. Doubt, Insecurity, Regret, ooze, scamper, slither. Plotlines crafted. Conspiring secrets shared. Stories woven with such texture; sight, sound, smell, all senses alive! The Realness of Unreality such a shock that I wake sweaty, shaking, a shadow of the woman who went to bed.



Photo Credit - Greg Rosenke



A Cat to my left. A Lover to my right. Pillow under my head. Quilt across my body.


Reminders of a Reality

that Repudiates

the power

of

My Brain in the Night.

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