Richard Grahn

Drowsy

once upon a night
in a far-off land called Sleep
I fell—
I tell you now the tale
as best it be remembered

T’was a week of tossing and turning ‘fore that fateful eve of slumber—fairies in the pillowcase chanting peals of thunder; bed sheets ‘round my legs in an anaconda’s grip—slipping in and out of stupor come from staring holes into the ceiling. And so, the bed was made.

the storyteller
opens the ancient book . . .
I absorb each word
as she rewrites the pages
for me to read again

9 pm . . . the fairies have left a fine dust on my pillow with the sweet scent of pine; the snake rests quietly on my thighs. I close my eyes and in a blink begin to dream. I know I’ve started dreaming because the fairy says it’s so. I hear the page turn and she is gone.

I wander for a while, then come upon a stream. Sitting near its bank, I watch the years flow by—faces from my past, demons, delights, dullards, and angels, some with a frown, some with a sigh, some with a tear, some with a smile. 

In the distance, I see a mountain and know I must ascend. It takes hours to reach the base, days to gain the summit. Once there, I’m caught in a cloud and float out to sea. Something tells me it’s time to let go.

    I fall

a receding wave
leaves sparkles of moonlight

     and I fall

on wet sand . . .

     and I fall

the sleepless deep
finally lulls me to sleep

     and I fall

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About the Author

Richard Grahn stays busy as the “founding collaborative artist” and “Jack of some trades” at Drifting Sands Haibun and the Drifting Sands – Poet’s Hub.  He has been widely published online and in print. His comprehensive bio and more of his poetry can be found on his Poet’s Hub Page and Blog.

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