My mother is yawning in her sleep.

Eyelids heavy, with Heaven's gates.


Maybe, he’d let her sleep longer.

She was safer within these walls.


Smooth his own wrinkles,

Before waking her.


She’ll shower till the faucet sends her

shivers down the drain.


Until, someone shows up to unclog it.


Put on her favorite song, let her dance away the cold with Bardot.


Bare feet meet

snow, on a May day.


Till he brings her socks, and warms her hands

With his own.


Then, she’d shuffle in circles with shadows

after dark

when the sun had slipped behind the house.

Hoping to see her again tomorrow.

When she was a little warmer.

a lull picks up

right after we tried

to put it to sleep.


light coos from the back of the throat

the hum of the microwave

and warm milk spinning:

the center of her universe.


tugging onto whatever she could touch

whatever was closest.


and laid to rest on-


a lukewarm heart

with fluttering beats

from the third cup of coffee.


no milk to sink

or sugar left to float

in this coping device.


pulling all nighters

just to tuck her in.


something short term

that shaped permanent gray hairs

around the chin and ears.


counting prayer beads like sheep

to stay up-not fall asleep.


numb and parted lips

no longer reaching

for the rubber pacifier.


the glimmer of hope

in a child’s eye

now she sleeps

engulfed in moonlight.

I’ve left this moment

empty handed-sapped

till hearts will wear and tear

and wind will blow through all it’s cracks.