Grateful More For Consciousness at Night

a poem celebrating those of us who are (more) nocturnal

One Hundred Days of Gratitude. Thirteen.

Some of you (restless rebels) already understand. Naturally refuse (the command of) the setting sun.

See (or hear) it more as a call to solitude (or fun) and thank your god that the day is done — even if it wasn’t a bad one. Still something about the night feels (more) right.

Maybe because it’s the original act of rebellion.

Refusing bedtimes and body clocks. Keeping your day going when the day (supposedly) stops.

Setting tomorrow’s schedule on fire and getting high off the fumes. Ignoring how the next day looms.

Getting kicks Getting punchy Getting munchy Getting late (even for you)

Maybe because only at night are we (more) free.

Seclusion and silence and safety and our time (to waste) for once.

During daylight — our bodies belong to work and to others, but at night our (exhausted) minds are our own, (except mothers) to obsess, distress, distract, or roam.

And yes, the darkness can unlock the cages we (try to) keep our demons in. But honestly so can the day, just ask anyone (who says they’re okay) at least at night you can put off the fight (on the pretense that the timing isn’t right)

Some of you already understand what it’s like to have the magic of the moon (or the soft glow of your room) bring you to life.

This poem is for us.

The hidden (mostly harmless) vampires, denizens of the dark, late-night-flight owls, keepers of the secrets and stars that only come out when we do.

This poem is for you.

Who, are (more) grateful for consciousness at night.