Has it ever struck you?
Have you wondered why
The older kids don’t have little books
To be read to them
As they prepare for sleep?

Probably not.
It is simply a new mode of life
That you have gradually slipped into.
You have improved.
You are more capable, but also
More sad.

Isn’t it rather difficult, though,
To exist between the hours of
5pm to 5am?
Perhaps for all hours,
But these in particular?

I want to speak with you.
This poem is as much yours
As it is mine.
Because you know that it is ideal,
It’s all well and good when you fall asleep fast
But darkness can become cruel
When you don’t settle in its cradle.
You know those nights.

Morning is terrible,
Morning is taunting.
Morning comes in sauntering.
And you sweat under your sheets,
Trying to figure out its plans.

Is this too much for you?
Hey, I’m just talking—
Saying it as it is.
Every shred of self-shame,
All these faults, doubts, dreads
Come together now.
You have summoned them.
Look now, stare at the ceiling;
Witness how the stars and planets of plastic
Spring up for you with a zealous glee.

Imagine that you are not lonely,
Not hungry, not hurt.
Say you’re not angry.
Tomorrow, try to make that reality.
It won’t work, will it?

Certainly not for me.
We are alike in ailment.
Perhaps someday distant,
Someday different,
Will bring something happy for us.
Until then,
I hope that I can
Meet you again…?

Read this when you can’t sleep.
Let this be
Your bedtime story.

…I still fear
The rift between there and here.
No one can hear.