Night Fright Write
Feb 4 2007
I appreciate natural beauty, I really do. The mountains of Utah, the
beaches of Long Island, and the Everglades of Florida are
spectacular, and I write about them and will continue to whenever
this earth’s art catches my mind’s eye.
I write what I see after midnight in my apartment after my e-mails
stop, there is no one to call, no television to watch because in six
months I have never gotten around to calling the cable company
or even have a real bed. I sleep on a blue exercise mat that I
cover with a thick comforter, and my back has never felt better in
twenty years. A real bed is a heavy, permanent kind of thing that
moving people have to deliver with a truck. Everything else here I
bought at the Dollar Store or Wal-Mart and was able to drag in with
my own two hands and feet. I'm afraid that if I get cable, it will
bring too much of the outside world in and that maybe I wouldn't
write as much as I do.
I see faces and people, and sometimes I pace around, get
anxious, and wonder why I just simply can't relax. Everybody talks
about relaxing: “Take it easy and just relax.” I hear this a lot.
Sometimes I have to study my face in the bathroom mirror just to
make sure that I'm really here and that this is me. Those are my
ears; that's my father’s nose; those are my mother’s eyes; and the
line between my brows from frowning is mine alone. Once I'm
certain that it is really me who is here, I can think about writing
something in the night. All the neighbors are fast asleep. The
train goes past every forty-five minutes, and my dryer is spinning
dry my clothes to break the silence.
I reflect on all the weekend blahblahs I did and saw. A haircut. A
recipe given to me by the butcher. The people in line at the Dollar
Store. The amazing catch I saw the Giants make in the Super Bowl.
As I write, I begin to relax because this is what I should be doing. I
apologize to so many poets for not emphasizing our natural
world…I’ll get to that, I promise. But to write at night all alone, it’s
to take away the fright; and then I feel relaxed.
I appreciate natural beauty, I really do. The mountains of Utah, the
beaches of Long Island, and the Everglades of Florida are
spectacular, and I write about them and will continue to whenever
this earth’s art catches my mind’s eye.
I write what I see after midnight in my apartment after my e-mails
stop, there is no one to call, no television to watch because in six
months I have never gotten around to calling the cable company
or even have a real bed. I sleep on a blue exercise mat that I
cover with a thick comforter, and my back has never felt better in
twenty years. A real bed is a heavy, permanent kind of thing that
moving people have to deliver with a truck. Everything else here I
bought at the Dollar Store or Wal-Mart and was able to drag in with
my own two hands and feet. I'm afraid that if I get cable, it will
bring too much of the outside world in and that maybe I wouldn't
write as much as I do.
I see faces and people, and sometimes I pace around, get
anxious, and wonder why I just simply can't relax. Everybody talks
about relaxing: “Take it easy and just relax.” I hear this a lot.
Sometimes I have to study my face in the bathroom mirror just to
make sure that I'm really here and that this is me. Those are my
ears; that's my father’s nose; those are my mother’s eyes; and the
line between my brows from frowning is mine alone. Once I'm
certain that it is really me who is here, I can think about writing
something in the night. All the neighbors are fast asleep. The
train goes past every forty-five minutes, and my dryer is spinning
dry my clothes to break the silence.
I reflect on all the weekend blahblahs I did and saw. A haircut. A
recipe given to me by the butcher. The people in line at the Dollar
Store. The amazing catch I saw the Giants make in the Super Bowl.
As I write, I begin to relax because this is what I should be doing. I
apologize to so many poets for not emphasizing our natural
world…I’ll get to that, I promise. But to write at night all alone, it’s
to take away the fright; and then I feel relaxed.
© 2007 by Michael Domino
