“Songs of Change” PART 2

I lived three months as an alien. No, I’m not talking about when I went to Washington. No, I’m not talking about Caleb and the cancer. Three months. Gone. Whisked away by the waking of my eyes. Three months. Followed by a week of questioning my reality. False memories made of picnics, conversations, conflicts with friends and spontaneous outings to celebrate our recent accolades. All within 7 hours of sleep. All a dream that felt more like real life than my waking reality. All, alien. 

The clanging of a music stand pulls me awake. A boy turns my way as I walk through the door, 

“Our concert’s at 7, right?” 

“Haha,” I respond. “Very funny.” 

He squints, looking around for an answer. “Okayyy, so it’s not 7 then?” He draws out, asking for help once more. 

I look down at the folder sitting on the table next to me. The three music pieces I had played in a concert the week prior are stuffed in the front pouch. On a sticky note I’ve written: Jazz Concert, April 6th, 7pm, call 6. 

“What’s today?” I ask, shutting my eyes and shaking my head. 

“Uh…” He clicks his tongue and checks his phone, “Tuesday the…the 6th.” 

I trace my finger over my writing, “Uh, ya. 7. Call is 6.” 

He opens the side door to leave, swinging his bag over his shoulder, “Thanks, see ya.”

I wave, and set down the folder. Another event that belonged to my sleep.

Yes, that’s it. That’s uncertainty. And that’s what I was looking to capture for this next poem. I actually wrote the title of this poem first, knowing I would make it my last line. The words felt natural and songlike. Sorry, no digging for this one, it simply came to me:

Sleep To Save

And while this uncertainty isn’t quite like believing a three-month long but really 7 hour dream, it transfers well. The uncertainty of the next step in life, the uncertainty of who you’ll become. Who you’ll beseech.

So, naturally, my first line is about waking up. A future waking up from the season on which we are about to embark:

When I wake 

When we get to the end of this season, what will we see? Success? Failure? And what do those look like? Do we even know? When we wake up, what is the first thing we hear? Birds. 

Will the birds know my name?

What do we often call trials in our life? Waves or mountains. But since I’ve gone with birds, waves feels more appropriate, now we’re in the same setting: 

Will I make 

A world to stand the waves

What do waves do when released? Crash. Remember, the waves here are our trials, our testers. And if they crash into you when you aren’t looking, they can sweep your feet from you. You can lose your balance…fall over. But if you run head first, no fear, they can also drown you. This uncertainty can keep you stagnant, scared, and tired. Drowning yet again. Here’s our uncertainty:

That crash into the lost 

And drown the seldom brave 

Enough to tread?

Now, I wanted to revisit the waking, that initial uncertainty. At this point, we aren’t worried about the waves because we don’t even know they exist. We aren’t certain of anything. What in life seems certain? The sun. That it will rise and set, and the moon will replace it. Let’s play on that and show our deep uncertainty through our questioning of the sun and moon:

When I rise 

Will the sun see the sky? 

Will I find 

The moon is just too high?

Now, I’ve got to ground us a bit. We’re teetering on the edge of space and I’ve got to get us back to earth. What feels earthy, tall but not massive, grounded but still has room to move? Trees. Ah, we are back to trees. Love me a tree. A great reference to our first poem and fits all the requirements I asked for. Let’s do pines, since they are tall and swaying and feel the most earthy to me. Let’s also touch on their roots. Their grounded property. Their ability to stand tall is attributed to the way their roots run wide, entangling with their neighbors like lovers holding hands:  

Will I know the pines 

And what their lovers crave

Now I’ve got my last line: sleep to save, but there’s a line missing between these two. What’s my main point in all this? The uncertainty of this next chapter. If it will be worth the trials, worth the waves, worth anything at all. So I thought, when we have days we hate or trials we loathe, we often say: I wish this were all a bad dream. Okay, works for me. Let’s go with it:

Or should this be another

Sleep to save? 

And there we have it, poem #2 in our three poem cycle. 

A Sleep To Save

When I wake 

Will the birds know my name?

Will I make 

A world to stand the waves

That crash into the lost 

And drown the seldom brave 

Enough to tread?

When I rise 

Will the sun see the sky? 

Will I find 

The moon is just too high?

Will I know the pines 

And what their lovers crave

Or should this be another

Sleep to save?

Come back next Friday for the final poem breakdown in this cycle. Thanks for being a friend!