napowrimo # 25

The 25th prompt is to write a poem inspired by the first word or phrase one hears after reading the prompt. After I read the prompt, I drove to Heidelberg to watch the annual half-marathon . In Starbucks, waiting for the lead runners, a guy at the next table was telling his friends he dreamed he ran in the marathon today. One apparently asked if he crossed the finish line. The dreamer said he didn’t know – he woke up. The conversation was in German of course, and I wasn’t paying attention, but tuned in on his statement about not knowing if he passed the finish line. And I wondered...




To Sleep, perchance

to drive a cliff-hugging road
with aplomb or to fly by
willing my body to rise –
a simple process I’ve always known,
or to lecture with uncanny
wisdom to all applause. But
what was that remedy – and
what was the cause?

I’ve other skills morning disavows
or memory artfully denies.

So, where does it all go –
those actions abruptly cut short
by waking? The precious words,
the clever deeds, the ideas that will
save us – abruptly snuffed
by something circadian.

Perhaps
they sit around our hippocampus,
weaving puzzles to perplex us,
or screwing with our memories,
or creating metaphors
for our poems.

                   Wanda Mccollar