Insomnia

past midnight: a heavy woolen stillness settles over the neighborhood. the tv downstairs is finally silenced; the dogs in the alley have nothing more to say. she wonders if nocturnal animals are all quiet creatures. she wonders if the jungle is noisy at night. cicadas! those are noisy nighttime animals, aren't they? or is it crickets? she doesn't know the difference. besides, they also make noise during the day. perhaps they do not sleep.

this waking exhaustion has been a nightly routine for years now. the most recent specialist (ayurveda) had advised her: "think of a mantra- something you want to happen in your life- then repeat it to yourself 324 times." 

her mantra tonight: the baby will be ok. the baby will be ok. the baby will be ok.

the words trip and fall over themselves. "will" and "be" can't tolerate each other; they bump and jostle each other, then finally part ways. the words rearrange themselves into a new order. will the baby be ok? will the baby be ok? will the baby be ok?

panic rises and swells. medical phrases crowd her mind- cold, clinical, sterile words that stand together shoulder to shoulder, impassive as statues: "increased pitocin", "decelerating heart rate", "declining on the growth curve".

oh god. oh god.