Who We Speak To When Our Eyes Are Closed by Marc Brightside
This poem is based on my lived experience of insomnia; the loneliness and isolation of insomnia, and how insomnia allows the lingering spectres of the past to manifest themselves anew.
My current gatekeeper to sleep is asking who we speak to
when our eyes are closed. Some might call it God who listens
in the twilight lull, tolerating our confessions; some subscribe
to narcissistic sects, say we’re only speaking with ourselves
in silence, which just means we’re guaranteed an answer
we enjoy, but rarely one we need. As a boy, I used to hope,
if I spoke loud enough, the moon would hear my curdled howl,
offer up some moonish wisdom, send a little spirit of the night
or file the restraining order, finally say Marc, stop calling me.
I used to think it would get easier. I used to think it could.
Most nights, it will be my brother’s voice which finds me in
the dark, wringing our shared arteries, our disgruntled cells,
my evanescent butterflies, and in my head, he sounds like
when someone asks if I’m okay and I don’t know what to say.
Marc Brightside
Marc Brightside is a UK poet whose work has been featured in respected outlets both nationally and internationally, online and in print, with his work characterised by darkness interspersed with humour and introspection. His collections Keep it in the Family and Personal Impersonal were published in 2017 and 2020 respectively.