Worry Isn't My Only friend
Giggles staccato through the living room,
as I cling to blankets, to pillow. The night
has been so long, and familiar in its darkness
but never long enough when you’ve grown used
to its quiet. Tiny feet thunder across hardwood.
I’m thinking about the future, about devastation
and hope. I’m thinking about progress,
societal, personal. I could lie here longer,
worrying. I could convince myself there’s
such a thing as deserving and that I have.
The footsteps scamper into the hall. The bedroom
door opens. Whispers. A body launches itself
onto my stomach with a squeal: awaken.