The snow lies still upon the rooftops.
From a few houses
smoke rises in a misty haze
and the streetlights blaze
like midnight suns.
All is silent
except the steady breathing of my toddler
whom I’m rocking back to sleep.
In the upper bedroom
across the street
insomnia reigns
and the blue lights of the television
flash out a noiseless dance.
But the snow lies still upon the rooftops
and silence greets my sleepy glance outside.
What makes the lights dance in the mountains
when I’m up with the baby at 4:30 am?
Why do they twinkle like orange stars
nestled in the mountainside?
Do my sleepy eyes create an imaginary heatwave
to make them shake and shimmer?
Or is it the night faires dancing–
flitting invisibly back and forth
above the city?
Squeaky doors and squeaky floorscreaking staircases and whining doors
all conspire against a mother
as so many infrared beams
–invisible tripwires–
to set off Alarm Baby
as she sneaks off like a thief
trying to surreptitiously steal
the jewel of sleep
Just when lights go out
you open your eyes
and decide it’s time
for a midnight stroll.
We saunter about the kitchen
as you stare out from the blanket bundle
with your little wise old elf face.
You wrinkle your tiny forehead
and furrow your almost invisible eyebrows,
looking about quizzically as you ponder some deep truth
until the rapid flutter of your tongue
through pursed lips reveals your babyness
phantom nursing…
You were just spacing out
and daydreaming of milk after all.
Just East Of Crazy Land 