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Before I slept, I watched
while she cooked in her kitchen,
how a strimpet of hair flailed down
in front of her face wild.
She never saw me smile over melted
cheese sauce
or
cauliflower propped up in a colander pot.
Later, I slept walked with the wind
until it died down to a low moan,
curled my stiff-necked head back
on the sleigh bed headboard
and listened
to her snore
which she denies.
I could not focus my prayers because
God kept interrupting me in my virtual hayfield.
She screamed
in her dream she never remembered,
not a fright but surprise then quiets
and flails her arms
once.
Back in the kitchen in the cupboard
she shakes the fake vanilla pudding
in front of me asks me
if
I want some. Yes, I guess,
I don’t want to stir tapioca. Too much
sawdust on my shirt.
In my mind I think rhubarb
pie and she reads me
aloud with her rhubarb crisp
comment I didn’t see coming- but
I should have because
It happens all the time.
She asks how long I sat on the porch
and watched the lightning show
and I said
till the dog pulled my sleeve; he
couldn’t tell time
and there
was no rhyme to
the strikes
high up
in the troubled sky.
But it was two
and the rain ran over the
gutters, escaped
to the pond which never runs full.
You would not believe it if
I told you I tiptoed myself to bed,
but it can’t be proven
otherwise.
Sometimes she feigns serenity
when I sink down
under cover
of dark.
I know though
she is remmed in, for her
restless feet are still
like cattails in a warm sun and there
is an even hum.
In her breath
You won’t find some words
in the dictionary
and others you do cannot be
defined.
Sometimes, night needs to stay awhile.
Koo Koo Ka Choo.
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Arriving on Time
