Insomnia
Gummies, Ambien, Melatonin, Lunesta
no alcohol whatsoever (Nyquil is cheating)
eating sea slug entrails, lathering my hair
in a mixture of mustard and mayonnaise
rubbing the ear wax of a dog on my left foot
reading Moby-Dick aloud, especially the part
about the skull shapes of sperm whales
I‘ve tried them all
and here I am at 3 am wide awake
worried about being too exhausted tomorrow
forgetting my lecture on the importance of fleaworts
my mouth flapping nonsense
maybe the Alka-Seltzer jingle
plop plop fizz fizz
or sometimes you feel like a nut
brought to you by Almond Joy
Looking like a fool
being fired of course
living on the streets
eating slobbered-on burgers from dumpsters
fighting sea gulls for soggy fries
sharing cigarette butts with Hazel
who insists she is a saint, babbling prayers
in Hebrew or Aramaic or ancient Greek
the space between me and my former life
growing wider like a train pulling out of a station
I wave goodbye, flapping a virtual handkerchief
to the corporate life with its onerous hours,
hideous high heels and budget-blowing suits
I settle down under my cardboard roof
next to Hazel who is snoring and dreaming
of performing miracles like water to wine
or multiplying sour dough loaves and Bluefin tuna
or raising her long dead grandmother
who is tucked into the box beside her
not the easiest environment for sure
but I sleep soundly
Airports
I love airports
everything about them
the reassuring
do not leave your luggage unattended
repeated like a mantra
the total absence of clocks
yes, even the hard plastic chairs
that keep you from falling asleep
so you can read Louise Erdrich for hours
savoring the ghost haunting a bookstore
or look out at the Septembered sky
with its flashes of orange and pink
before the wool moon rises
or watch toddlers escape in a flurry of giggles
frenzied mothers following
no way to clean the oven, pay Comcast
or wash the stack of clothes
that stares at you reproachfully
no way to weed crabgrass or cook coq au vin
for your wearisome neighbors
(slugging most of the wine)
no way to buy useless birthday presents
another sweater no one wants or needs
final boarding call for flight 86 to Rome
mercifully not my flight
I drift down to Starbucks
for a peppermint latte
and a slice of lemon bread
passing the board on the way back
hoping my flight is delayed
Full Circle
to my mother
I didn’t have to climb out on the roof
& slide down the drain pipe or clamber
through the bony arms of the old oak
risking falling, fracturing
I didn’t have to wait until one a.m. when you finally
put On the Road aside & turned out the light
I didn’t keep a boy waiting for hours
in the shadows of the driveway
hopping from one foot to the other
I walked out the front door at exactly nine,
knowing you were out cold, bottles at your side
eager to see the boy who adores me
with a bright love like I have never known
& tonight I just might let him have his way
the way you warned me happened to you
sixteen years ago
the seed who became me
who spoiled all your dreams
Claire Scott is an award winning poet who has received multiple Pushcart Prize nominations. Her work has appeared in the Atlanta Review, Bellevue Literary Review, New Ohio Review and Healing Muse among others. Claire is the author of Waiting to be Called and Until I Couldn’t. She is the co-author of Unfolding in Light: A Sisters’ Journey in Photography and Poetry.