Poetry

Insomnia – Linda Pastan

I remember when my body

was a friend,

when sleep like a good dog

came when summoned.

The door to the future

had not started to shut,

and lying on my back

between cold sheets

did not feel

like a rehearsal.

Now what light is left

comes up—a stain in the east,

and sleep, reluctant

as a busy doctor,

gives me a little

of its time.

from The Virginia Quarterly Review

Standard