SENTRY

Before my muscles tense,
     before my eyes are open,
          I am awake.

     Who am I?
          I don't know.

     What do I know? 
           I have no past
               and I can't be distracted by the future.

Jerry's persistent cough--is it serious? Will he die?
Our houseguests--are they up? Do they need me?
Obama's plan to take away our money--should we get it out of savings
     and if so,
          what should we do with it?

     What is my role?
          I am on alert:
               I am a satellite dish, bigger than I am
                    shifting to monitor any subtle changes in
                         sound
                         sight
                         smell
                         touch
                         taste
                         movement
               that may indicate danger.

          I am a knotted stomach and a pounding heart.

          I am a watcher.

          I am Melissa.

               My color is orange because
               orange is the color of caution.

I can tell through my eyelids--
     it is getting light now.

I don't want to stay out.

I don't want to be here.

Let me go. . .