After Great Sleep
by Lily Greenberg
The house of myself—I understand—I found the water pressure control, wind is clearing out the attic windows, my shoes are learning to share in sock abundance, the leak in my basement spitting waste—I have found a bucket and it is not you! What is it each morning my mother reads to herself? Finally, I can hear it—the voice of God! Some days I know exactly what is going on. I am documenting the patterns—miles of traffic pass by the five o’clock movie and me inside, me who bows before approaching the cats, me who sings not the song being sung. My third ear (my whole body) is standing at the bus stop of great seeing. What a snowglobe I am! Watch me reach into a dumpster and pull out twenty dollars. I (my whole body) am stepping out from behind cracked glasses and welcoming the big box of wheels rolling over the road—some days, I am so clear-headed I can hardly stand it.
