A person lies next to me
Someone’s arm wraps tenderly around my waist
So sweetly this fingertip circles my hipbone
I know this person’s name
An owl circling the chimney
Eyes like brick
Eating the songbird
I forget this arm has fingers
When I say I can hear two
eyes opening and closing
I mean are they looking at me
both heads on gray pillows
one nose toward one ear one nose toward one ceiling
I am not planning on falling asleep
when the plan was to fall asleep
Angry that this is all that is left in the dark
Sleep when I’d rather escape head first
through the window the bed is facing
through glass and metal and plastic onto the grass
Are you blinking?
Yes
What are you thinking about?
Things. I don’t know
The bed makes a crunching as I turn my back to the voice
I thought the dove coos
were owls in the daytime
owls in holes in trees wide awake
whenever someone could hear them yelling
Sheila McMullin is the Assistant Editor for VIDA: Women in Literary Arts where she writes the column “Spotlight On!” celebrating literary magazines that publish a diverse representation of writers and is a Contributing Editor for ROAR Magazine. She works as an after-school creative writing and college prep instructor and volunteers at her local animal rescue. Find her online atwww.moonspitpoetry.com.