Richard L. Matta

Sleep Walking

I tell my friend Ken I want to write a poem on insomnia. He suggests writing from experience. “Set several alarms spaced throughout the night. You’ll tap into your subconscious, just sit at the computer, type, pass out, and repeat.” 

I decide a poem isn’t worth the pain. The next night I wake up at 4 a.m. and can’t get back to sleep. The next night the same thing happens.“I haven’t written anything,” I tell Ken. “Too tired to think.” I’m reminded of a Stephen King novel and of course I make up the details I can’t recall, something about a creep sneaking through a garden, climbing a tree, crawling through people’s windows at the same time every night.  As a kid I woke up at that time three nights in a row. The red digits on the clock radio freaked me out. I disconnected that clock and put it in the nightstand. That’s where the laptop is now. In my nightstand. I just lie there in bed and something occurs to me. 

trampled flowers
in the house garden…	
I flip it open...
the garden smeared
on the keys 

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About the Author

Richard L. Matta grew up in New York’s Hudson Valley, attended university, practiced forensic science, and now lives in San Diego. Some of his haiku, tanka and haibun are in Modern Haiku, Frogpond, Akitsu Quarterly, Bottle Rockets and Presence. His long-form poetry is found in various journals, including Gyroscope, Dewdrop, Ancients Path and Healing Muse.

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