Sweet tooth


It was never a fear of the dark
that kept me awake all those nights
tucked in with a plush honour guard,
nightgown sparking like fireflies
caught in flannel sheets

It was appetite, my sweet baby teeth,
the prospect of being sprung from bed
for a slice of toast and jam

I prodded my mind with stories
pinched from books or lame TV sitcoms
and wrote myself into the script
Repeated each scene until it ran smooth,
my brain humming, eyes unblinking

I waited for my mom’s long, slim silhouette
against the glowing cream of the hall light,
for her pronouncement that it was very late,
that the only possible cure for my sleeplessness
was hot crisp bread smeared thick with strawberry

A ten o’clock permit for the kitchen rare
as a dollar on the sidewalk,
mythical as a third cookie for dessert
But the trying was routine
as brushing teeth, looking under the bed

And even now when I lie in listless limbo,
regretting all those hours of sleep I snubbed,
I still crave that wholewheat grail