Louise Vale
Insomnia
Three or four a.m.
Reaching for the clock, my hand
is netted, criss-cross,
by the shadow of the blind.
I am become Spiderman.
Clenching and twisting my fist
in preparation for
scaling tall buildings, and
swinging over busy streets,
I notice how the lines expand,
swell and follow
every movement of my hand
as closely as a zebra’s.
Now, I’m no longer in New York,
but Africa is here, and somehow
I don’t want to sleep
and lose this zebra feeling.
Grazing slowly with the herd,
watching the yellow dawn, shaking
my heavy head and waiting our turn
to taste the water-hole.
And somewhere out of sight -
under that bao-bao tree - deceptive
in the stillness of this half-night,
the lioness is waiting.
Page(s) 68
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