she never sleeps

she never sleeps.

because of her anxiety
because she’s worried
about things like
the great pacific
garbage patch, or
if she locked the door,
or microagressions,
or heteronormativity,
or other multisyllabic concerns.

instead she stays up,
and strums a guitar,
and reads books
too difficult for me,
filling her head
with more words
and more syllables
to worry about.

she never sleeps,
but she’s often there
in the foggy reality
of my mid-morning dreams,
showing up somewhere
around the fifth REM cycle,
with her furrowed brow and
guitar-strumming fingers,
teaching me new things
from her old dictionary.

so I try to sleep.

I try to sleep.