Heart Stone cropped

Late at night, as I sleep
The night workers take over
In my dreams they take stock
Sorting and sifting
Through the debris of the day
Through the hubris of my mind
Sorting and cleaning muddled perceptions
The tangled-knots
Of my childhood mess
And from even before
Of lives forgot
Like Vasilisa and her tasks
They turn over the pile
They sort and they sift
What needs more light?
What needs more air?
What needs to come up?
To the cold light of day
The corners that need dusting
The creatures to be fed
The monsters to be loved
The nakedness of truth
Each morning I awake
A changed person
Never again the same
As the one who lay
The night before
After all this hard work
No wonder sometimes
I don’t want to wake
For it’s hard to do nights
Without a break
But it’s even harder
To ignore
That which must be brought
Into the Light.

© Angela Dunning, 14 August 2016

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