I thought I might try to upload more photos here, since poetry is scarce for me nowadays but photos are in abundant supply. Then at the last minute I decided to try and spit out a poem to go with this one. I don’t think I can always do this if I start posting a photo every day, but tonight at least I was willing to give it a whirl. It ain’t my best work poetry-wise, but it’ll do. I’m a bit rusty with the poetry anyhow. Not sure it really fits the photo at all – certainly the title doesn’t, but maybe I’ll think of a better one later. And the poem was still inspired by the photo, so it’s legitimate at least in that regard. I may think of edits to it later, so if you come back and re-read this poem sometime in the future (ha!) it might not be what you see here now. Or I may decide I hate it and take it down. I’m irritating like that. I love the picture though, so it stays no matter what.

Night Terrors

When I was a child my dreams went sideways
on me often, whole rooms hurtled over while I
stayed stationary, stuck to what was once
the floor. In my teens I would wake up late

at night to a tinny ringing in my ears
and the certainty of demons calling
for my soul. In college the internet taught me

about night terrors and people roused from sleep
paralysis sensing the presence of evil beings.

A creative writing professor told me dreams
were a cheap device for revealing secrets
and should never be used. The computer said

the demons were merely a need to wake
too soon, an awareness of sleep when sleep
had already taken over. A sleep of which one ought

to remain ignorant. A sleep that wields
its power, holds you in place when you want
to move. Like a footstep in an empty room

can stay you. The plot device is often used –
sleeper as prey for anything that might
be waiting – a serial killer, a rabid dog,
a college professor with a club and black

sunglasses, waiting to bludgeon your slumber.