does it matter to my dog that I sleep with the lights on
blindingly bright she curls up at the edge just the same
through muffled tears and hysterical sighs she remains deep in slumber
when I wake up with a face still wet and feet curled in an anxious knot
her diaphragm rumbles with soft sneezes as nature intended
is she a sponge for my alternative actions
does she know that I know why the lights are on
screeches along the roadside out the window
will find a person just the same
lying on the bed, in a state of joyous relaxation
unaware
of what?
of the greatest fear that one day they may see why I sleep with the lights on


Nina Armstrong is a student in Southern California. She has been published in “Just Poetry National Poetry Quarterly” as a national winner, and “Genre: Urban Arts.”

June 8, 2018

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