It used to be I couldn’t sleep with socks on.
Something about the cotton against my skin became so much more
noticeable once the lights went out.

My toes would sweat and, despite my anxiety
around escaping a burning building quickly, I couldn’t justify
being quite so prepared.

Plus I liked the freedom of being
able to wiggle and squirm without constraint. Like rows of loose teeth
or piano keys played with no regard.

But something happened
in the last two years my toes don’t toss and turn at bed time
if I forget to remove their fuzzy companions.

I can still sleep and move, breathe
as needed. Play my toes in simple songs while wrapped in a blanket
and an extra layer of warmth.

In fact, I think they might like the security
of the socks more than the autonomy of nakedness at this point.
Sometimes there is comfort in change.