"The question that plagues every sleeper" by Eva Valenti

Where else would I be at 4 AM but on a Greyhound bus,

gazing out into a dawn just beginning to yawn its way over the mountains

and in through the oversized round-cornered window,

listening to a song only I can hear,

sleepy but smug (anything's significant when you're the only one who sees it)?

Most likely I would already be wrapped up in silent oblivion,

untouched by dawn,

home instead of heading home,

inward- instead of forward looking...

or perhaps thrashing in nightmare,

churning in the throes of the desperate question that plagues every sleeper:

is anyone else awake?


 

 

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