last night,

my house was so quiet that

i could hear the echo of each static

in the small freckles of my earlobes,

and the fears my mother and father and brother

met once they had fled to a Dream World

(better than a Disney World),

and i felt abandoned at first,

because they didn’t take me with them to this Dream World

(better than a Disney World),

but what kind of world is that for an insomniac?



and it turned out to be okay that i couldn’t sleep, because,

last night,

i drank the night,

and i slurped the stars,

and i know now that there can be no chocolate milk

better than a roof full of night,

a roof that pulls apart the cotton of silence

and plays music loud enough

for you to hear again.



because,

before last night,

i had forgotten how to hear the staplers

stapling my words to my tongues,

couldn’t remember how to hear history lessons taught by my father,

drums played by my brother,

heartbreak echoing in each tap my mother brought to her keyboard.



you see,

i talked to the night last night,

and he taught me how to listen,

and look at how good i am at understanding now!