She.

She wakes moments before the baby.

The night is still,

Silent.

She peels back the covers

And begins

The barefooted dance

Through the house

Once her feet hit the cold wooden floor.

She tip-toes her way

Into the dark,

Eyes closed,

Side-stepping toys,

The dog,

The creaking floorboard,

Without a flicker of light.

She moves through door frames and rooms,

Guided by her memory and hands that

Graze over furniture like braille

Telling a bedtime story.

Fingers skirt along the piano,

The backs of kitchen chairs,

The chipped molding that frames the living room.

She reaches through the night,

Grasps the doorknob in its place.

The familiar click and crack

Of an old door opening.

She steps into the room,

Slides her fingers along the edge of the crib

Just as the baby whimpers.

Swift and gentle,

She bends and lifts her daughter

Upside-down.

#rhythmwriting2021.