Lineman
Sleep tugs me, these days, at so many moments
Into its soft embrace.
I remember when I was young, I would fight it
Worried about wading through life
Slow and dreamlike
Eyes open is how I was taught to be -
Faces tight, ears cocked, eyes all but
Crazy from being held open so wide.
Nostrils flaring, as we stood shoulder to shoulder
Our tautened brown bodies waiting for the slightest
Sign of danger
To bolt and retreat,
Back to where we were supposed to be.
And now when sleep, medicated sleep, threatens
to drag me into 12-hour drugged dreams or
stilted conversation, soggy and sparse -
I greet it with open arms.
Tired of running, we are -
Tired of the adrenaline that shook me awake
Before I was ready
And wound my chest tighter and tighter
Until it almost shut.
Tired of the earth shaking beneath our
Dark feet as we ran,
Our hair ripping out behind us
on a hot desert wind.
Tired of the fear that held us
On a high wire singing with current -
For I am not a lineman
And I do not know how to handle such things.
We met a lineman once
He had a fat gold band on his finger and
A sleepy comfort in his walk.
Our tour guide at a museum, he
Told us all about the whaling that took place
Off the New England coast;
Stories of relics and rolling storms,
Harpoons and blubber melting in lamps
Charge his little stature now.