At three or so I would awaken Out of a fragile sleep to the clang of pots and bowls Cabinets, silver spoons and a measuring cup Pancakes fried in a skillet Buckwheat from a box I don’t know how long I lay there Listening And I wondered whom else in the house can hear I was closest to the door that led to you Just one door that separates Were the others in this darkened house staring at the wall or ceiling? Counting? Afraid, just a little. Thinking about the morning when it comes
After your feeding, the kitchen would be cleaned to its former glory Spotless And into the bathroom Right next to my ears You would step softly and close that door behind you Turning on the sink’s faucet And then the shower Taking the laxatives And wait I wait
We all wait in this house for you to finish It goes on and on And then you turn off the water Go back to bed And maybe then I can sleep Again.