A new poem by Holly Fletcher.

bejeweled log

i was dreaming about wasps / wee darlings that followed me / ducking under objects /
that i was fated to pickup / my fingers seeking / and meeting with  tiny proboscis’s /
but instead / i wake up /  roll sideways / five times / working up the momentum / to
rescue self / from waterbed / i am like a bejeweled log / come ashore / feet smashing
up against the cold-wet floor / the tide yearning at my back / a cat somehow there /
amongst  stale blue sheets / i wear my sleep like limpets / stubborn and hard shelled
across the surface/  i walk like split juice into the kitchen / and make coffee / and it is
near cold / in a way that i am near sleep / the day stretching out before me / like it’s
been tortured / the medieval way / from this room / i  can see  what’s coming / like
postal deliveries / cat fights / mrs andrews on her run / or starey paul / who always
waits on the corner / with his small dog / who i hate