2:37 a.m.

Weary of wakeful child

I rock against his reluctance.

Soft songs don't lull.

Warm milk doesn't lure.

It's possible to adore

yet wish him unconscious.

A soft hand pats my face,

pulls my lip. He stands on my lap

reaching for window-framed moonlight.

The sight of his round-cheeked beauty

pours sudden warmth through my bones.

Back and forth we rock,

breathing in unison.

When he settles close,

head against my neck

I keep rocking

gratefully awakened.

by Laura Grace Weldon

author of the poetry collection Tending

Image: public domain