Counting the Nights

I connect to my body, to my eyes,
my breath quickens. Shoving my

eyelids open,
I’m awake.

I connect
to face washing, toothbrushing, undressing.

My eyelids flutter;
I feel my eyelashes tap the pillow,

I connect to my breath
as it slows, as it evens.

I sleep.
I connect to the needed blankness of sleep.

I connect to the colorful, noisy,
intrusive dreams,

disturbing, constant, confusing, unceasing.
These hours, this night,

this week, this month, all of my nights.
I scratch marks on the wall, next to my bed.

Five dreams tonight – one
tolerable, four horrendous.

Seven dreams (I wake up crying),
Next night three, I screamed myself awake.

I count the nights, tonight and every night. These days and nights,
weeks and months, this time, this year.

I count eight days of Passover,
then forty-nine days of the Omer.

This year – these dreams.
I keep counting.

I connect to my body. My breath quickens,
I open my eyes, awake.

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