DOING THE NIGHT ROUNDS

At night she would talk
to the refrigerator.

She liked the sound
of its hum

agreeing with everything
she said.

"I'm 70 years of age but
I'm really only 7!"

she'd tell it in
the strictest confidence.

The light shone
upon her face

as if it were
giving her its blessing.

The gift of light
at night.

She said the refrigerator  made her
feel holy.

"The refrigerator has got to go
to sleep now!"

I'd whisper to her and
she would nod once.

Cry.
A single tear.

"Hummmmm!" she tell the refrigerator
in its own language.

She would tell me
that she had stolen

yesterday's sunlight and
had stashed it under her bed.

"That's ok..!" I'd say.
"I'll iron it and put it out

for the morning just in time
for the new day to find it."

"You won't tell no one!"
she'd beg.

"I won't tell a single soul!"
I'd promise her.

I would take her hand and
she would cling on for dear life.

"Try not to step on a black tile!
They **** you down into the nothing!"

She said the refrigerator had told her.
And the transistor had confirmed it.

Each night we would
evade the black tiles.

I'd mop her forehead.
Tuck her into bed.

Watch her fall to sleep
as if from a great height.

Limbs all splayed.
"My strings are cut!"

I'd attempt to leave but
she'd invariably wake up.

"Will there be porridge
in the morning?" she'd plead.

"There will be porridge
in the morning!"

And as my last footfall leaves
she's drowned in sleep.