Light Out

Now it's light out
When it's night out
And you're two.

To you, there's sun enough
to watch ants carry whatnot to the nest
to bat at imaginary balls with your pink plastic recorder
to chalk our walk.

You think you should not be under one thin cotton blanket
when the air through the window is still sliding off the curve of the sun.

Not seepie seep, mama.
Your ruddy eyelids tell me better.

I can still hear the kiddos from 35 years ago playing capture the flag
while I kicked at the sheets
and wished my mama would free me.
I can still smell the grass slowly cooling.

So I relish your resistance.