Sleep Therapy

Since Clayton died, it's hard to sleep.

It's not so much FALLING to sleep, it's when I am awakened in the middle of the night (by snoring hubster or thirsty child) that I can't seem to get BACK to sleep.

Often, when there's something on my mind, the best therapy for me is to get it down on paper. Journal. Scribble. Blog.

Or sometimes write a poem.

Here is my attempt at getting my Clayton-filled mind back to peaceful slumber.

Untitled (So I Can Sleep!)

I saw you last,
Tho’ it’s been years,
Leaning lazy on the fence,
Your fingers curled
around the wire
to watch your boys,
with interest, run
circles ‘round the field.

Your hand runs on
your stubbled head,
and I remember fondly
long dark hair,
the bluest eyes
gazing back beyond
the tears we shed
that night you left us here.

I hear you laugh,
that nasal sound,
infecting as the smile,
the charming grin,
and glint of secrets
laid beneath,
the lure of which
a girl could scarce resist.

The little ones,
they sense the love
and nearness of an easy soul,
of good and safe,
throw caution to the wind,
run to your arms,
tossed in the air
on wings of pure delight.

And now the world
seems silent void.
With empty arms and broken hearts.
Laughter stilled.
Sleepless nights.
Our memories run cold,
your warmth compared
to what our lives have lost.

-Myrna Hynes
January 17-18, 2010
In Memory of Clayton Coates