In (sort of) celebration of the divine miss m’s first night sleeping in her own room. Tonight, the carseat on the floor. Tomorrow night, the crib.

I rock,
exasperated
by the bucking bronco in my lap
I yelp,
startled,
bitten by this wild animal
I sing,
addled
by the braying that reverberates
at just the frequency to shatter
all sanity in the universe.
I give up,
chuck her into bed,
jab the blanket into place around her arching frame
and leave;
slamming the door up to the last noiseless inch.

later, remorse grips the doorknob and twists,
and curiosity eyes her,
in a sliver of room,
alone and asleep.
but in the gloom I thought she looked right at me:
tonight, you see, I have no need of you.