Sleep by Susan Tepper

He buys you bagels and cream cheese and tells you to sleep more. How can that make you sleep? You want a pink blanket with a satin edge and a womb to curl up inside. It’s too cold out there. Icicles line the chimney making smoke impossible. But the fireplace makes you cough and summer is only a shadow with fangs. You want a dog, maybe a cat, you want things that haven’t been invented. It’s a lost world. The shape of things to come don’t match your mind. You dream of mountains flown over when it was exciting to see George Washington and those others carved into rock. Now there is nothing left to please you. Nothing but your fist against a wall. He comes in with the bagel on a tray. A single red rose in a water glass.

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Filed under Susan Tepper

4 responses to “Sleep by Susan Tepper

  1. The restless despair is clear here. I’m sorry for the would be sleeper.

  2. Ganymeder, yes, she has restless despair. This was me for 6 weeks this summer with bronchitis–
    but i’m better now & thanks so much for reading this!

  3. The third line, of wanting a pink blanket satin-edged and a womb to curl in — so true, such a wonderful way to convey what we all, fundamentally, yearn for most. Gorgeous piece, Susan. peace…

  4. Pingback: Week #15 – Sleep « 52|250 A Year of Flash

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