Academic journal article Hecate

Waves of Sleep

Academic journal article Hecate

Waves of Sleep

Article excerpt

Each morning I slip into my skin under a long shower shedding waves of sleep. I reach through the cleared spaces of rooms and tables, grab at the air, it is all mine. Later their smiles will hook me from the corner of my eye, try to trip me up. Their legs will twine over mine the minute I sit down, their fingers plait themselves into my hair. I drink the first cup standing up, my legs planted wide in front of the stove. Even so, they snatch at my apron as though to pull me down. I shove my hands into plates and bowls, stride from table to sink. I do not look down, always struggling against the tide of their scampering legs and the thin sounds tapping on the outer shell.

When I go down gingerly into the sea again the children jump around me, rubbing against my new skin of water, my funnel of black hair, my eyes like dark pools of sea. They clutch at my hands, moving me slowly away from the shallows.

Then the ache begins, ripping out the centre of my chest and I dive as deeply as possible spilling out the heads of hundreds of waves as I rise to the surface. …

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