To look at her, you’d never think she was the sort
to hide a flask away in her sock drawer

To need a little snort before
bedtime twice a week

To wake up at 2a.m. in a cold sweat
because she dreamed of the house she lived in when she was only 12

How could such a regular girl cry in her sleep
when there’s nothing but sun light to wake her

and the quiet stillness of subconscious memories --
stained on inner eyelids, imprinted on unseen sight,
pooled between fleshy skin and airy spirit

How much can you possibly know of anyone?

as the sun rises, sleeps and rises east
then calls the good world awake 
for putting dreams to bed

Days end; worlds spin
Sadness comes and goes

And Sunday mornings, she pulls on her boots
and goes to church to sing


Anonymous said...

Reading your stuff is cathartic

Janna Barber said...

Thanks so much. It's always good to hear when other people understand and can relate.