singing me to sleep

I have 13 minutes to write. 13 minutes until I yawn and stretch my toes and fold myself into a great pair of quilts my great grandmother stitched together to keep her family warm. They do keep me warm. Warm and safe. I will soon drift away on a sea of sleep and the sound of Claire Campbell's hollow, soft alto singing me a secret:

Do you laugh,
Do you cry in your secret room?
Do your wings make a sound?
Do your feet touch the ground?
I love like a sailor.
I dance like a princess.
Tomorrow I will stand in the middle of the road.
Until I get run down.
Until the sun sinks beneath the ground.
I sing like a werewolf.
I shoot like an outlaw.
I love like a sailor.

--Love Like a Sailor

words adapted from a poem by Ben Roth
performed beautifully by
Hope For Agoldensummer
on the album
I bought a heart made of art in the deep deep south

http://www.hopeforagoldensummer.com