Sleep is an Isthmus
by Lisa Marie Brodsky
On this side, it is you and on that side,
a dream of sanity
waiting for you on the lake’s glassy floor
asking, will you fall through should
your eyes close? You needn’t worry;
snails stick to your seat
and make a mess, but minimal.
A minor inconvenience
compared to the insomnia
that glues your eyes open.
You might as well be fed impaled fish
& rocked back & forth by a neglectful mother.
Your fingers wiggle in water
like worms searching for their ancestors
and dream a drowning, a fall, a reflective
cloud-casket planted on land you can’t reach.
You feel only the night’s longing
to remain night forever
the same way you yearn for rest, for the moon
to give up its right to keep you.
Lisa Marie Brodsky is the author of poetry collections, “We Nod Our Dark Heads” (Parallel Press, 2008), and “Motherlung” (Salmon Poetry, 2014), which received an Outstanding Achievement Award from the Wisconsin Library Association. Her poetry has been published in The North American Review, Mom Egg Review, Peacock Journal, Diode Poetry Journal, Verse Wisconsin, SUSAN/The Journal, Poetry Quarterly, and has work forthcoming in The Linden Avenue Literary Journal and Barrow Street. In 2016 she was anthologized in “Even the Daybreak: 35 Years in Salmon Poetry.” As faculty member at AllWriters’ Workplace & Workshop, Brodsky teaches classes on emotional healing through creative writing. Her web site can be found at: www.lisamariebrodsky.blogspot.com
The Drowning Gull 