Gloria Heffernan

1:46 a.m.

My mind wanders, wonders.

Leaps from crisis to crisis.

Climate catastrophe.

Another election season,

There’s a drought somewhere.

And wildfires. And space junk 

falling from the sky.

And I don’t dare turn on the TV

because some market research group

has clearly done a study that proves

insomniacs are more susceptible to images 

of suffering and therefore more likely 

to Call the number on the screen right now.

And then there are the infomercials

that look so promising at 2:00 a.m.

And a siren has just screeched past

heading to some tragic scene somewhere

and I’m lying here under my warm blanket 

feeling sorry for myself because I can’t sleep.

And now it’s 2:30 in the morning 

and I am no closer to drifting off 

but I remember that scene in White Christmas

when Rosie Clooney and Bing Crosby 

are eating liverwurst sandwiches

and drinking milk – real milk, not skimmed, 

and they start singing about falling asleep

counting their blessings. And so, I do, 

because Rosie wouldn’t lie.

So I think of my beating heart.

My breath. My loved ones. My home.

I start wondering how high I can count

but I come back to this moment.

This blessing. Right here. Right now. 

And I still can’t sleep.

But oh God, how grateful I am. 

And who can sleep with all these 

blessings to tally up? And it’s been years 

since I had a good liverwurst sandwich.