Remember when I was young,
crammed in a king-sized bed with the four of us like little anchovies or tuna
packed in a can?
Getting my eyes
adjusted and
staring at the ceiling fan,
hoping that my dreams would be real?
Imagining that the little specks and
floating dust that my eyes see are
leading me somewhere even though they're just made up in my head?
Gleaming at the vertical blinds that are
blocking my view from the dark sky,
hiding that beauty that is outside,
covering the
glimmering stars in the starry, starry night?
Going back to the time,
wishing I was still a small child,
tucked in and under the warm bed sheets,
glazing over what can and will be,
counting the stars, not the sheep, like one, two, three...
dreaming to discover a better space,
knowing that my future will unfold,
trusting that I will leave a tale to be told.

Snoozing, dozing, snoring, hearing
through thin plaster
with no soundproof walls,
wailing.