Posted in Free Verse

I’m Not

I should be used to it.
Cutting through the silence,
its swift, sharp blade
rips through my sleeping world.
I jump up from peaceful slumber.
There it is again.
A cold sweat drips down my neck.
Clammy hands grab the sheets for protection.
I’m not afraid of the dark
but sound amplifies in quiet, darkened spaces.
I roll over on my pillow, barely missing the cat,
and quickly turn on the light.
Once again, that eerie, plaintive wail
fills every corner of the room.
I release the sheets and stare at the bottom of the bed.
There she is, sound asleep. The Basset Hound.
Her legs are running, her nose is twitching.
Catching up with the source of her distress,
the dreaming dog howls again.
I should be used to it.

© Susan Schoeffield

Written for the 6/25/14 prompt at Poetic Asides to write a word-association poem choosing one or more words from this list: toast, pop, right, paper, howl, little.