Tuesday, December 11, 2018

A Slumber's Tale




painting from wallpapersjpg.com


A Slumber’s Tale

“You must be more alive than life; only then will
death’s slumber become sweet.”
--Kamand Kojouri.

I find such a comfort
in my morning routine.
In retirement, I put total trust
in my internal clock,
that mysterious impish something
that keeps track of time
as my REMs quiver like moth wings
around the back porch light.

The mere act of awakening
as the new day greets and beckons to me,
is a birth-like moment, as if I had been
swimming in deep dark water,
and then to have my head break through
to the surface, gulping air, celebrating,
getting a grip on a fresh steaming slice of life.

I sit placidly on the edge of the bed,
catching my breath,
letting my heart rate slow down,
letting rejuvenated blood rush
out into my sleepy extended limbs,
trying to recall some of the dream
I had just exited;

the back in the Navy dream,
or back in college wandering hallways
hoping to find a classroom,
or back in the office,
or back in a play, when I cant find
the dressing room, and I don’t know
my lines, and I am naked,
or spending mundane time
in a familiar city, home or job, rife with devuja
moments, a known landscape perhaps
in a parallel dimension where
I live a different life, before

shuffling and staggering
to the bathroom
to recycle hydration, and
already consumed foot stuffs;
a place that is a Mecca
for OCD tendencies--
the hairbrushes and comb in their spot,
just so, with the mouthwash, tooth brush
and paste side by side
with my wife’s.

As I limber up my arthritic fingers
to gather my lifesaver-colored
pills for the day, ten bottles to plunder,
pills doled out into green plastic cubes.
I say aloud the names of each medication,
both as a memory exercise, and the comfort
of knowledge, imagining a shard of control.

All this before the shower and breakfast,
which is the stuff of a different poem,
some other comfortable chronicle.

A possum visits us
at night, leaving its scat by
basement door; a gift. 



Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

10 comments:

Gina said...

this is truly the magic I was looking for and waiting for someone to write about, beautifully structured from the ream state and to slow waking to fully aware of the life before you. I loved the many intriguing phrases, the steaming slice of live, recycling hydration and oh the OCD tendencies! sharing a private space with respect and tolerance must be the epitome of ordinary magic between two souls. thank you for this amazing poem Glenn!

brudberg said...

I love this... what a wonderful routine... each part almost a ceremony. The little pills and reciting their names becoming a chant of a prayer. We seem to have had similar thoughts, though mine started where your ended (with breakfast)

Frank Hubeny said...

Nice lines: "as my REMs quiver like moth wings
around the back porch light." I like the "quiver" and the "back porch light". And the moth.

Unknown said...

To awake on the right side of the grass, as my husband says - a blessing. Funny how our routines take over - define us.

Reena Saxena said...

Small routines matter - like checking your mail or daily websites in a particular order. I could relate to this.

Jade Li said...

" The mere act of awakening
as the new day greets and beckons to me,
is a birth-like moment, as if I had been
swimming in deep dark water,
and then to have my head break through
to the surface, gulping air, celebrating,"

the joy of waking, of the transition, a celebration of life. so life-affirming. it is a reverence for the gift of life. beautiful rendering

rob kistner said...

Loved this Glenn! I especially liked these lines because this is exactly how I get out of bed...
"I sit placidly on the edge of the bed,
catching my breath,
letting my heart rate slow down,"
I have sleep apneia and don't use a c-pap, because I fucking hate them, and toss too much to wear one. I really related to your "meds" ritual! I also have the "pill parade" every morning, and for me, every evening as well. 14 different meds everyday, pills, caplets, capsules, and two of them are subcutaneously injected liquids - every color of the rainbow.
Sounds like you hit it out of the park for Gina. I obviously had no idea what she was after.
Again, I thoroughly enjoyed your haibun here Glenn. I wrote a piece in the same rhyme scheme and stanza length as Frost's "The Road Not Taken", but as a complete accident. Rage on Glenn, peace!

Katie Mia Frederick said...

Hi Glenn.. So True it is the Smallest
Things in Life Will be so Amazingly
Magic as i do remember when my
Eyes Quit Making Tears and
the Ophthalmologist
Put those Rubber
Screws in
my Tear
Ducts for
Any Tear would
have been Heaven then..
but true.. 1 second it took my Mind
off the Trigeminal Neuralgia Never
Ceasing as Rubber Screws in My
Eyes as one Second Heaven then.. and oh
God too when they Offered to Block the Nerve
Risking Permanent Numbness and Paralysis
of my Face to rid
me of what
was Wake
to Sleep Dentist
Drill-Like Pain for 66
Months that would come
to Be without any Drug that
would touch that Pain in my
Right Eye/Ear the Numb of Emotions
was more Terrifying than the Hell of Pain
As All Would Be Numb Just Numb A Black Abyss so
Then Hell of Pain
Became
Heaven
in Hell.. Yes..
Dante's Rings
my Friend Run Deep
Run Deeper Colder than
Saturn Rings.. So if ever anyone misses
me i am Just so Glad they will likely never go where i've
been.. A Greatest Magic is no one has to be me but me..
And true it's easier iN Heaven these days.. other than that..
Keep Up the Art my Friend Springing HeART ALiVE FoR NoW..:)

JIm Feeney said...

This is haunting in its own way, Glenn, and like all good poems it's the accumulation of detail that makes it work...JIM

Vivian Zems said...

I love your description of awakening. Great lines!