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What Was That Noise?
Stuart Watson

Night was up to what it does, tip-toe slow
through the winking constellation

of smoke detectors, phone charger plugs,
dozing desktop nags to consumerist

behavior, and I consorting frivolous
in places none but me has ever seen,

when BLAM!!!! awakens me to alarm
at what could shove such auditory blade

into my ears, my brain, my always
lurking, slumping, tamped-down fears.

Split like aged oak with one high-arcing
course of file-sharpened ax, my night

folds in upon its newest wound, bloody
heat spooling at my feet, a thudding

heart inviting me to cease or leap
confused up to a dance composed

of aimless flight from thunderclap,
rude intruder, thief of precious sleep.

What was that noise? A question
without answer nags my rest to death.

—
Stuart Watson has been honored for his work at newspapers in Anchorage, Seattle, and Portland. He has fiction and poetry all over the place. He lives in Hood River, Oregon, with his wife and their current “best” dog, hiking, windsurfing, and cooking.

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Have you read these poems:
One Day by Melanie Perish
Aphorism III by Kevin Griffith

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