night.
a cricket is trapped in my room, or the surrounding walls, voicing its frustration with an incessant chirping. i'm sorry that i can't provide it with better company, but take a bitter pleasure in knowing that it is alone, with me. freshly cleaned, my room has been less than off limits lately, and the peace of a night with a fake sunflower and old laundry is a welcome contrast to the steady parade of family during the day. occasionally, the cricket will fall silent and i worry, thinking it has died, somehow, or given up. we all give up. i wait, until the creaking starts again.
i lie face down on my bed, which remains placed more than an arm's length away from the window due to a childhood fear of burglars. the resulting chasm between bed and wall has come to house extra blankets and fuzzy critters and tossed-aside books finished in the wee hours of the morning.
this corner of the room is a stiff rendition of a prophecy. leopard and wolf sit in a heap with cow and donkey and nobody seems to be any wiser. a hand stuffed creation named ralph is serving extended time with this furry menagerie as part of a joint custody arrangement in which he had no say. his hat askew, he seems too dignified for the others, and so joins me in the bed. ralph is rewardingly furry, and unpredictably warm. he sits patiently on my stomach with outstretched arms as i finger the fabric around his mouth and nose. i count his tags - three in all, including the one around his neck - and wonder if i should feel offense on his behalf at having been marked on official duplicate - one out of many. the fur bristles as i rub it against the grain.
it is dangerous playing so close to the mouth of an inanimate object. it might bite me, or worse. i imagine locking lips with a snow leopard, shrunken down; comical, and so much smaller than i am. stuffing pours out of its open mouth - hugs and good wishes littering my bed.
i will sleep with them tonight and find them in the morning when i wake up - clinging to the hollow carcass of a beary special friendship.
i lie face down on my bed, which remains placed more than an arm's length away from the window due to a childhood fear of burglars. the resulting chasm between bed and wall has come to house extra blankets and fuzzy critters and tossed-aside books finished in the wee hours of the morning.
this corner of the room is a stiff rendition of a prophecy. leopard and wolf sit in a heap with cow and donkey and nobody seems to be any wiser. a hand stuffed creation named ralph is serving extended time with this furry menagerie as part of a joint custody arrangement in which he had no say. his hat askew, he seems too dignified for the others, and so joins me in the bed. ralph is rewardingly furry, and unpredictably warm. he sits patiently on my stomach with outstretched arms as i finger the fabric around his mouth and nose. i count his tags - three in all, including the one around his neck - and wonder if i should feel offense on his behalf at having been marked on official duplicate - one out of many. the fur bristles as i rub it against the grain.
it is dangerous playing so close to the mouth of an inanimate object. it might bite me, or worse. i imagine locking lips with a snow leopard, shrunken down; comical, and so much smaller than i am. stuffing pours out of its open mouth - hugs and good wishes littering my bed.
i will sleep with them tonight and find them in the morning when i wake up - clinging to the hollow carcass of a beary special friendship.