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Insomnia
     by Cynthia Hardy

 

The pillow has heard it all: the litany

of undone things.  The horses stamp

the barn at night; each thump of hoof

against board accuses.  Not nearly enough hay,

they tell me, and where’s all the green stuff?

Snow fills their paddock to their knees. 

And what about my words to you?

Should I have said íf  instead of when; what then?

The darkness spreads full and warm. Blankets

tangle.  The cat pats my cheek with her untrimmed

paw.  Should I change the litter box now?

Call a long-lost friend?

 

The horses set out across the land,

looking for the barn they deserve, red paint

and all.  A stream flows year round, its

banks curve, green plush, to the clear

water.  There are other horses,

none with shaggy coats or dirt-packed

hooves.  The cat wants to be in the dream.  She

perches her wiry self on the black mare’s

back and weaves, tail spiraling for balance

as they gallop off.  You rise, say, I’m

going with them.  Fine, I say.

​

My eyes blink; blink propagates blink.

I sweep the blankets across my shoulders

like some Versace robe, a gown of sleep.

​

​

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From We Tempt Our Luck, finalist in the Astounding Beauty Ruffian Press Chapbook Contest, 2009.  This poem reflects some themes I often go back to—the horses, a cat or a dog, the impact of winter on the psyche, insomnia, and dreams.  It was also a response to a set of prompts I set myself from bits of found language—in this case, the word “Versace.”  The “you” in these two poems may or may not be a real person.

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Cindy Hardy photo with Hector.jpg

CINDY HARDY writes from Chena Ridge, Fairbanks, Alaska.  She has published poetry and fiction, with a new poetry collection, Rude Weather forthcoming from Salmon Poetry.

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