Remember that delicious
walking, arms linked,
down the middle
of the gravel road
in your pajamas
at five in the morning
when you were twelve?
That first slumber party
in your safe small town
when you all stayed up all night
for the first time in your lives?
That eerie first sight
of the sun coming up
when your head had never hit a pillow
since it went down?
And then you knew for the first time
the delicious pleasures
of being a night owl—
of finding time
that everyone else was wasting
through dreams.
And you have been
an aficionado of night
ever since.
All of your term papers
and exams studied for
at the last minute,
all night long.
Books written, poems written
mostly in the dark
while towns and cities around you slept.
That power of having all of your time for yourself
with not a chance of phones ringing.
Some magic happening
once you had the world to yourself
so ever afterwards
you have survived
on as little sleep as possible.
During your party years,
dancing and drinking till three,
then going for breakfast with the single crowd
and driving straight to school at six.
You were invulnerable.
Even married,
sneaking out of bed once he’d fallen asleep
and working in your basement studio all night long,
sometimes sneaking back to bed before he awakened,
at other times caught.
“It’s nine in the morning! Have you been up all night again?”
Feeling that little terror, like a vampire caught by light.
Then at 54, with no more husband,
no more job necessary,
with a new country and a new studio
above ground,
guilty pleasures no longer needed to be hidden—
watching light after light go out
as you sat piecing art together
in your studio—until suddenly,
impossibly,
light after light went on again
so you were going to bed
as your neighbor was arising
to start his day.
Then, improbably, at 62, internet romance
entered your midnight-and-after world.
Every night serenaded to sleep
from 1500 miles away
by an equally night-addicted lover bard
at two or three or four a.m.—
or whenever pillow talk led to it.
Skype became your love letters
and your trysting spot
now and then all day long;
but still, night better swaddled
that intimate invisible union
through the dark air
that has always been magic for you,
but which now joins instead of
sending you into the single space
where you unite with that within you
which you keep separate from the world.
At night, united or alone,
you know exactly what it is you want
and live it,
with no world
to lead you elsewhere.
The Prompt: Sleepy Time. More and more of us go to bed too late because of sleep procrastination. What are the nighttime rituals that keep you up before finally dozing off?
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 
I will attest to your working all hours of the night. I, somewhat of a night owl myself, would head to bed long after Tony, and see your light glowing when I turned out ours, then wake up to pee and your light would still be on in the studio, your head bent over your project. A comforting thought to know that you were busily creating while we sloths next door slept. Your neighbor mentioned above, my sloth mate, sent me an e-mail last night/morning from North Carolina saying it was 4:30 AM and he was just getting up to get ready to teach his class today. AAARGH! I must confess that I did not rise until noon. My first day to sleep in in weeks. BLISS! I needed that.
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Great words, yet again. I am so impressed with you, and may I be just a wee bit jealous, too? The part I loved best in this (and I do agree–deep night time is a magical time) was the slumber party. Of course it made me think of the ones I enjoyed with great friends in small town…yes, Roberta and I walked all over the town and did see the sun come up, then went back to Mrs. Hawley’s wonderful breakfast. You are a true night owl, and indeed inspiration and romance can be inspired by that sacred time to think unimpeded, write down your thoughts, or Skype them, savor them, let them sink in deeply.
I’d like this poem divided up. The teenage part (I think) should stand alone. But you just go from thought to thought to thought so beautifully, I’m probably full of beans. I often want your poems a bit shorter. Does anyone else ever tell you that? I want them shorter because I can handle much more easily one major event around which your luscious details flutter and descend into my brain.
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yes–I thought about cutting the slumber party, but it was such a revelation and really did start my fascination with night…It just seemed impossible that one could see the sun rise without having slept. I think part of the reason my poems seem long is because of the short lines, or perhaps that is just an excuse not to have to edit…ha. I actually do edit. You should see how long this poem was before. 25 pages! Do you believe that? oxoxox
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Yes, Ann, reading this again after not seeing it for so long, I agree that it could be divided up. I’ll put it on my “To Do” list!!! xoo Judy
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I do appreciate your comments, Ann. Today WordPress repeated this same prompt ad I rewrote this, making it into a personal essay. I’m hoping the compression of space will make it seem shorter and wed the elements together better. If you see this, tell me how you think it works. Thanks for commenting, as always. Judy
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We have a lot in common… but not the internet romance. Although an internet romance would be better than encounters of a closer kind – less sticky!
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