“The moon is messing with us.”

Yesterday is dust –

cutting tiles and color coordinating.

Daddy worked a long day

at home and away.

I entertained children –

gaming with daughters,

huddled together,

eating chips and laughing.

The baby screamed,

tears streamed,

he threw things.

He’s no longer napping.

I held him. I rocked. I said,

“I know, baby. I know.”

Sushi break with Mia.

“They say this place is magic.”

“Who is they?”

“I am they.”

At the book store

we walked down isles

of titles and things –

so many things.

I sat down to plan future things,

and anxiously awaited

the unfolding of things.

We packed up our things,

to a grand home

where the tick-tocks of clocks

soothed us to sleep.

My tired eyes read –

Will Grayson, Will Grayson

until I gave in.

As the dust settled, so did we,

there we lied, in blankets covered,

safe and whole.

The baby between us,

Daddy put my hand on his tired head.

“I love my sweet boys.” I said.

The children slept,

they were happy.

I am one-part “they.”

And they closed their eyes to dream

of more of these things,

more bedtime stories like these

filled with everyday things

and everyday people

and maybe, just maybe,

a little more sleep

for us all.

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