Easter Hope

Not chocolate or ice cream or meat,

not alcohol or cigarettes or cussing,

oh no,

none of these.

It seems I have given up sleep for Lent.

Or, at least it has given up on me.

The recipe used to be easily created:

lay on side, rest head on pillow,

close eyes, drift off.

I still follow the same steps

but with different results,

or no results at all.

The silky blanket of dreams

that neatly tucked under my chin

has frayed to one silver strand.

Teasingly it caresses my cheek

yet when I try to hold on,

my hand comes back empty.

I am left with swirling thoughts:

ideas,

plans,

insecurities;

while heat from my internal furnace

steams out my skin.

Sometimes after the intensity subsides

and I lay just right,

I can feel sleep snuggle up against me.

But skittish as she is,

the slightest disruption

sends her running.

So, this Lent,

although not my choosing,

sleep is my sacrifice.

I will wait with hope,

not for the resurrection,

but for a long rest in a cool, dark cave.

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