Saturday, February 3, 2007

The Wee Hours

My husband sleeps on
while Noah and I lie awake
listening to the eager plow drive by.
Lights and rumbling in the dark
draw my young son's eyes to the window
then to me,
asking.
"It's snowing," I whisper,
"Let's get up and see."
I point up while I say this,
and he smiles.

Downstairs
I pat my hip
and ask if he needs a diaper.
He smiles again.
This time it's just a diaper
and not a whole new set of pajamas.

In the wee hours
Noah plays on the patchwork
on the floor
with a ball and a tambourine.
I feed the cat
then sit nearby - writing, watching, listening.
He breathes through his mouth,
the plow makes another pass,
and Noah grows.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Oh, what precious poem ... brings me into your window and heart ... snow and plows and Noah and you .. you who I adore. I am so glad you are voicing outward ... keep wording your way into your new life. Love, Shirley

Kate Faragher Houghton said...

Thank you Shirley! It's helped to shift the energy in here to start putting some words out there. I have been trying to access your blog as well but so far have had no luck - do I have the address wrong? Please resend to me. Love, Kate