Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

Covering me are brown sheets, blue fuzzy throw, green blanket. And great mother's quilt, handmade from her days of captivity. Silky red, rest under my head, smelling of hair oil. Crumbs rake against my coffee skin and fingers graze over cotton, scratching them to the floor. Gum collects on bed post, stickers stick as well. Names are carved into the wood, to stay forever, loving Jonathon, Brandon, and Nick. Years pass by, and I stay here. Eating, talking, and being right here. Living right here on a mattress so worn. Held by wooden frame.

At nine, it stood against the wall, two others in the room. Toys and clothes are stuffed underneath, and the room is said to be clean. Barney is our comforter, unicorns are our wallpaper.

Three beds cramped into one room, and walking space is limited. We imagine beds as ships at sea, and make it all make sense.
     
Then years pass by, and I stay here. Eating, talking, and being right here. Living right here on a mattress so worn. Held by wooden frame.

A year ago little sis moves out, and marriage will be nice. The room shared by three becomes a room for one. I send my sister to another room, and finally gain some privacy. But then bed #3 is moved back in for grandmother to sleep in.

But grandmother leaves some months later, her home is no longer here. Instead she stays in heaven, with my God and Savior there.

So privacy is once restored, though her bed remains.

It just doesn't feel right yet to move it out again.
       
Some months pass by, and I stay here. Eating, talking, and being right here. Living right here on a mattress so worn. Held by wooden frame.

After class is relaxing time.

I lay down in bed.

From behind, through lime curtains, the sunny sun shines.

I'm tucked under fabric masses, wiggling to the right, to the computer on the table.

My hand stretches out, fingers tap tap tap. Scroll down, keep reading, cause the story's getting good.

Line after line I take in, and hours and hours fly by. Eyes fall heavy, words lose their meaning, and I turn back over to the left.

Hand under stomach, body contorted, eyelids flutter shut. Peace.

Good dream this time, but bad dream soon, someone in the room.

Rest cures my exhaustion.

-- Alicia Thompson