Tame the Night
by Denise Felt 1984
Oh, head. You must stop whirling.
How fuzzy you’ve become.
It’s as though the humming
of the night outdoors is somehow
trapped inside. It’s nice though.
Memories have lost their ragged edge,
smoothed out and pleasantly blurred
with scotch. A fine tonic that
for healing aching hearts and heads.
A good night’s sleep would
surely cure the rest.
What?
Is that the door? I thought
it much too late for visitors,
but maybe not. My eyes refuse
to read the time correctly.
No matter. Who is it anyway?
Virginia! What is it?
What brings you at this hour?
I thought my work was done
for today. Oh, yes. I guess
I did ask you to finish that report.
Thank you. May I get you
a drink? Please sit. Hmmm?
On ice? There you are.
And one for me. This couch
seems softer now for some reason.
To your health! You look
quite well if I may say so.
Your lips are very red
and moist. No one who’s ill
has lips like yours, I’m sure.
Your hair is healthy too. It glows
so in the light. Perhaps
it shimmers with some ardor
of its own. May I touch it?
It feels very soft. So does
your cheek, which a curl gently
teases. Your skin is so warm!
My touch has drawn a blush,
I see. I hope I don’t offend.
I seem to be wandering
from the point a bit. Your health,
I think I toasted. Did I?
Yes, then. Have another. It’s good
scotch. Drink it straight.
It’s better undiluted. Water
wastes true quality of taste.
And life is bitter streams
at best. No wine really ages well,
but scotch makes all dim.
Don’t go yet! Please don’t leave.
The night goes on. And on. Please
keep me company a while
at least. I hate these beastly nights!
They last so long. Please stay.
Your eyes seem undecided. Shall
I beg? I can’t make you stay.
And I’ll be fine, of course.
This night is like all others.
I forget the reason why
I’m drinking. I’d rather not
remember though. I sense
the open wound. And sleep does come
in the end. Don’t look that way
at me if you desire to leave.
You make control forget
itself. Please hold me!
Oh, how warm you are!
Come, fill my empty veins
with heat. I’ve been so cold.
Frozen. And tonight the wind
blows so sharply. Your body stirs
my own to warmth. How long
it’s been! Oh, God! How long
since I have felt a feeling!
Touch me. Make me live again.
Make me – Virginia! Yes!
One night cannot erase
a lifetime, though it tried.
Day comes and reason
must return. What now?
I ask the ceiling. Sleep came
at last and it was sweet.
So sweet! Now what
is there to say? I stole
a good night’s sleep and
now I have to pay. I owe
her more than this, to be
her boss’ mistress. But husband
is a word with worlds
of pain in itself. And yet . . .
She seems so fragile in repose,
though heavy is the load
she makes me bear unknowingly.
Perhaps this time I’ll do it right.
Perhaps we’ll tame the night.
(This poem was written as a companion piece to the UFO story that eventually became "The Devil is a Woman.")
Oh, head. You must stop whirling.
How fuzzy you’ve become.
It’s as though the humming
of the night outdoors is somehow
trapped inside. It’s nice though.
Memories have lost their ragged edge,
smoothed out and pleasantly blurred
with scotch. A fine tonic that
for healing aching hearts and heads.
A good night’s sleep would
surely cure the rest.
What?
Is that the door? I thought
it much too late for visitors,
but maybe not. My eyes refuse
to read the time correctly.
No matter. Who is it anyway?
Virginia! What is it?
What brings you at this hour?
I thought my work was done
for today. Oh, yes. I guess
I did ask you to finish that report.
Thank you. May I get you
a drink? Please sit. Hmmm?
On ice? There you are.
And one for me. This couch
seems softer now for some reason.
To your health! You look
quite well if I may say so.
Your lips are very red
and moist. No one who’s ill
has lips like yours, I’m sure.
Your hair is healthy too. It glows
so in the light. Perhaps
it shimmers with some ardor
of its own. May I touch it?
It feels very soft. So does
your cheek, which a curl gently
teases. Your skin is so warm!
My touch has drawn a blush,
I see. I hope I don’t offend.
I seem to be wandering
from the point a bit. Your health,
I think I toasted. Did I?
Yes, then. Have another. It’s good
scotch. Drink it straight.
It’s better undiluted. Water
wastes true quality of taste.
And life is bitter streams
at best. No wine really ages well,
but scotch makes all dim.
Don’t go yet! Please don’t leave.
The night goes on. And on. Please
keep me company a while
at least. I hate these beastly nights!
They last so long. Please stay.
Your eyes seem undecided. Shall
I beg? I can’t make you stay.
And I’ll be fine, of course.
This night is like all others.
I forget the reason why
I’m drinking. I’d rather not
remember though. I sense
the open wound. And sleep does come
in the end. Don’t look that way
at me if you desire to leave.
You make control forget
itself. Please hold me!
Oh, how warm you are!
Come, fill my empty veins
with heat. I’ve been so cold.
Frozen. And tonight the wind
blows so sharply. Your body stirs
my own to warmth. How long
it’s been! Oh, God! How long
since I have felt a feeling!
Touch me. Make me live again.
Make me – Virginia! Yes!
One night cannot erase
a lifetime, though it tried.
Day comes and reason
must return. What now?
I ask the ceiling. Sleep came
at last and it was sweet.
So sweet! Now what
is there to say? I stole
a good night’s sleep and
now I have to pay. I owe
her more than this, to be
her boss’ mistress. But husband
is a word with worlds
of pain in itself. And yet . . .
She seems so fragile in repose,
though heavy is the load
she makes me bear unknowingly.
Perhaps this time I’ll do it right.
Perhaps we’ll tame the night.
(This poem was written as a companion piece to the UFO story that eventually became "The Devil is a Woman.")