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"OH WATERS, TEEM WITH MEDICINE TO KEEP MY BODY SAFE FROM HARM, SO THAT I MAY LONG SEE THE SUN." - Rig Veda
I stock sugar in my nightstand and still I fearsleep. I fear my sugar will drop to a dripin my brain, barely enough to make it run,to make sweat bead across my forehead,to make me incomprehensible, inconsolable,a pillow amongst pillows, a mass of mess,because what is a body that no longer wants.In sleep, my body wants to remainmy body, wants to get up, raise the curtains,watch the trash truck track a trail of newspapersaround the corner, out of the neighborhood,and into the mountains people here believewe came from—the back of one dark well.Rise, our first bodies said, out of bed,but sometimes mine will not. Sometimesit must be my daughter who shakes me enoughto open the lid of my life and eatthe round raspberry or strawberry or grape tabsthat dissolve on my tongue like absolutions.What is a body that doesn’t rise, what is a daughterto do but wait by the bed, go downstairs, pourCheerios, grab a coloring book and drawsquare upon square until it becomes a housewith a tree out front, a long driveway,a basketball hoop, a light shining from the upstairsbedroom, which must mean in any worldsomeone is awake.
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