Because it’s late
So many nights I stay up late writing. Eventually, I make my way up to the bedroom. Because it’s late, my wife is already asleep. The lights are out except the one at the bottom of the stairs. I use this beacon to locate any obstacles in my path. Then I turn it off from the switch in the hallway and walk in darkness a few steps – three to be precise – into the bedroom before making a quick right turn into the bathroom. Because it’s late and my wife is asleep, I don’t turn on the bathroom light until I am inside and I have pulled the door closed in that special way so that it doesn’t squeak. Because it’s late, I wash up quickly even though I know my pores are not getting as clean as they should and I’ll probably get a zit. My teeth, too, get shortchanged. Because it’s late, I brush a little less and I don’t floss. I know, I know, I say to my dental hygienist whose admonishing voice I can hear in my head. Because it’s late, I don’t go looking for clean pajamas. The ones I left here on the stepstool by the bathtub are okay for one more night. Of course, I turn off the bathroom light ahead of opening the door, again mindful of that squeak. I enter the pitch black of the bedroom and pause for a second until my eyes adjust. I have memorized the dark route to the bed. Dark maps are useful for night people. I sleep on the opposite side of the bed from where I stand. Silently, I make my way. Because it’s late and I am sleepy I could easily stub my toe on the corners of the bed, so I leave plenty of clearance. I sit down on the mattress and find a book there with the contours of my ass. This is the book I was reading earlier. Because it’s late, I don’t click on the reading lamp, even though I am tempted to read a few more pages. In the obscurity, I push the book toward an open space on the shelf of the nightstand. This takes several tries. Too many books in there. I make a mental note to put a few of them away some day soon. I reach for the bed covers. They are in a jumble. Because it’s late, I don’t even try to find a way under the top sheet. Instead I settle in above the sheet but beneath the thick down duvet. If I’m lucky, I will fall asleep quickly, but usually I need to think a little more about whatever it is I was writing. Because it’s late, I don’t go back downstairs to my computer when a solution to my story presents itself. I will just have to try and remember. Because it’s late, I close my eyes tight, empty my mind and wiggle my unstubbed toes until I find welcome slumber. Because it’s late when I awake, I need to hustle to catch up with the rest of the house. But I don’t act surprised or angry. I don’t pretend that it could be any other way.
8:44:55 PM  Poems
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