Alone Time For Mothers.

I read to you
             In soft light,
Chosen for us by the burned-out bulbs Laziness forbid us replacing.

You are snuggled:
              Bare-skinned legs: hairless -
Superhero under-roos and tossled bed-capped hair

Heavy eyes...
              I hold daintily onto the red fleece blanket,
I turn pages and my arm droops under the heaviness of the Big Book,

Wool sweater
             wrapped around my thirty-one-year-old body
Like protective armor against Their over-blown imagery of Who I Am

Temporary bowl of ice cream
             Your Father brought me
Minty, chocolate - I turn another page.

It is Late now.
              The book is closed.
              It is the final chapter
              Because I am (too tired to keep reading);
You sit on the white couch and hold the book and try the words that Frustrated form awkward in your young mouth and you fight through to get the Meaning and it is Too Much this time and I am guilty and typing poetry when I said I would go to Bed.