Julie A. Dickson

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Only While I Sleep

.

1
Float, nourished maternally,
tiny hands poised – clasp,
release, relaxed in sleep
until it’s time to emerge.

2
Slumber deep beneath
blanket of snow, furry ones
insulated from wind, tucked
into a nest of downy softness.

3
Milk-drunk litter lies supine
against warm body, sleep
soundly, mewling ceases,
sated until the next suckling.

4
Dormant roots in quietude,
nourished, waiting for spring
sun to melt icy covering, expose
ground, awaken stems to climb.

5
Swaddled in comforter cocoon,
light snore, dreams of youth,
brief glimpse of past vitality
visible only while I sleep.

_____
.

How Long

.

I may have been a child once
I cannot recall young legs,
bright cheeks, smooth skin –

mirror reflects truth, aged
tired eyes, silver strands
of hair no longer dark brown

always string-straight, never
held a curl after sleeping in
pink sponge rollers that hurt.

Bounding upstairs laughing
back then, replaced sore knees
hand on railing steady pace

walking to get mail, why do
they call it snail – although
gait is no longer a trot, more

like an old mare resting under
apple tree, cloudy skies rob light
cloudy eyes search for drops.

Lost my keys, more cannot
find – was I looking for wallet,
walk back to the kitchen, oh yes

keys on the counter, back to chair
think about kids grown, how long
since I was full of energy, youth?

.

BIO: Julie A. Dickson is a poet who broadens her writing experience with workshops and prompts; her work appears in over 40 journals, including Gleam, Ekphrastic Review, Misfit and Open Door. Dickson holds a BPS in Behavioral Science: Gerontology from UNH and works in home settings with elderly. She advocates for captive elephants and shares her home with two rescued cats, Cam and JoJo. A past poetry board member and Push Cart nominee, Dickson is semi-retired and loves books and audio books.

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