The Comfort Zone
By: Pamela Loperena
7 A.M.
morning light
marvels
at how
my
eyelids
can be
closed
for so
long.
Yet
in the
clouds
of my
comfort
zone,
I dwell
upon
a REM
stage
of
deep
dreaming,
where
wistful,
illusions
envelop
me
whole.
Floating
off my
feet,
I caress
the feelings
of my
younger hands
and curls,
getting in
touch with
the silhouette
I used to
be.
I
set a
candle
aside,
letting it
kindle
her
distress.
She
finds relief
in my
new,
calm
composure,
realizing that
the days of
tomorrow
will
glow
all right.
Blanket
warmth
softens
my skin,
as I
slowly
start to
wake from —
alarm
clock
pulsations.
