POETRY ON THE SUBJECT OF SLEEPERS ‘WAKE

Afterlight 

By Kimberly Phinney

To sail into a thunderstorm is not so

commonplace: to have your body split in two,

to feel the electric fissures become you

and learn the cracks you navigate

in your upside-down way.

Your pulsating heart, your pulsating brain—

both opened to calamity. Some might call

this chaos pain, but the good rain

poured in and flooded me.

And though I ached and rocked like those tiny

boats at sea, there were seeds planted deep

within me—hibiscus and white lily—

waiting for the tempest winds to break

and wake me from the dark

with His afterlight—

to bloom.

This Gift Card has Already been Redeemed

by Mischa Willett

Another day I sag
into from sleep

drag a self around 
the leash-length

wonder whether I should
or how, wonder what now.

But we haven’t,
whole-hearted,  
not as ourselves.

So it goes. After it
by which I mean the light

I’ll rest—another fit—
Blanketed in blamelessness. 

Matins No.554

by Christina Schempf

Leap into the day, my love!

Find your vigor.

    paddle strongly.

    run steadily!

Your rest will come when

    you are weary.

But shake off the sleep

    and join the living throng.

    the groundhog doing her work.

    the turtle hers.

We must love the world

    with all the strength we can muster.

    with all the courage we can carry.

    with all the hope we can bear.

Begin the work of the day, beloved.

    joy awaits.

As Kingfishers Catch Fire

By Gerard Manley Hopkins

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;

As tumbled over rim in roundy wells

Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell's

Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;

Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:

Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;

Selves — goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,

Crying Whát I dó is me: for that I came.

I say móre: the just man justices;

Keeps grace: thát keeps all his goings graces;

Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is —

Chríst — for Christ plays in ten thousand places,

Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his

To the Father through the features of men's faces.