the world winds down slowly tonight
coalescing into one  small house
on the cusp of something
we sit and watch the flickering
of other peoples bad news
and pray it does not become
our own

we keep in constant touch
with each other, the golden boy
sleeps with head in my lap
the father lays his hand
over mine and exerts gentle
reassuring pressure
the tuxedo kitten, sensing
our restless souls, moves from
person to person seeking
to comfort wish his two kilos
of wrinkled scrawniness

it is a time of waiting
and watching the small
screened phones, willing
them to carry positivity

it is a time of  cups
of lukewarm tea
and half eaten food
starting at sounds
and praying
to gods long losr
or forgotten

the night continues
to crawl, toward the day
the phones remain silent
we sleep in fitful dozing
snatches, with the blue glow
of reruns lighting
the huddled of  love

at 4.02 the phones buzz
and we answer,
with trepidation
the news is cautiously good
the surgery complete
the nephew, still with us

we sigh, with gratitude
as the sky begins to lighten