The Change Viewed As Metaphysical Representation Poem by Patti Masterman

One woman blew her brains out,
and another I knew personally
quit sleeping, at the menopause.

She said she sat up all night reading
because sleep would never come anymore.
Eventually she gave me up, not for Lent
but perhaps because I was useless after 9 p.m.
and she always called well after midnight.

I spent a few nights at her house, and in the night
I got up one time, and went upstairs from the basement
to use the bathroom, but the lights were all on-

There she was, reading a paperback.
I got a chill, remembering what she'd said about not sleeping.
She'd told me I was taking too much melatonin,
so I tripled my dose, after that.

I wondered how it would be to never sleep again;
I began filling myself nightly with antihistamines and melatonin,
Gaba and herbs, determined to go meet the Sandman
on his own indecipherable terms.

There are no books I want to read worse than I want sleep,
That global resetting each and every night, because otherwise I'm afraid
I might end up joining the woman in the 38 Special club.
And I'm still scared I'm being secretly inducted
into the midnight book-readers society.

I refuse to capitalize the word menopause; it’s only a word
no better than any other.
I'm thinking of adding some Tequila to my repertoire,
And also wondering, if some women are not born more Goddess
than human, and never even realize it.