for my Alisha
Christianity’s End Times? Bedtime lasts longer
and nobody knows its day or hour, either. Waiting
for the rhythm of slow and steady breaths to seep
under the boys’ bedroom door and rescue us from the weak
and ruined state of never enough pillow talk or spooning
or hurry up and lock the door – all of which eventually lead
to the warm slumber of some part of your body touching
some part of mine – makes me finally understand the depth
of character required for Jews to just keep waiting for their Messiah.
And, since this Valentine has taken a decidedly religious tone, pray,
please, for the forgiveness of my just-fell-asleep-midnight-leap-
from-bed-to-hush-another-child vocabulary. You do that
and I’ll give thanks that I’m blessed to lose sleep with you.