Intermission

Betsy Joseph

March 30, 2022

As I lie awake in pre-dawn cocoon

I think of it as intermission:

the time between thrumming of tires

along the nearby highway

and the solitude of white noise calm.

During this lull, for a blessed hour or so,

I begin to follow my breath:

inhalation counts from one to six

exhalation counts from six to one.

Body now still, mind becoming serene,

I turn to a different form of counting,

this time a listing of gratitudes

from menial to supreme,

consciously pausing between each one

until yielding at last to sleep once more,

the weightless blanket of peace enfolding me.

Betsy Joseph lives in Dallas and has poems that have appeared in a number of journals and anthologies. Her poetry collection, Only So Many Autumns, was published by Lamar University Literary Press in 2019. Lamar is also publishing her forthcoming book, Relatively Speaking: Poems of Person and Place, a collaborative collection of poetry with her brother and poet Chip Dameron. In addition, she and her husband, photographer Bruce Jordan, have produced two books, Benches and Lighthouses, which pair her haiku with his black and white photography.