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.

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A version of this originally appeared in “Comfort” The Teller November 2019 Issue #8

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