Midnight Bites

We’re camped out in the living room,
me bedded down on the floor,
Daughter taking the high ground of the couch.

We live in the fine style of daily adventures,
be they at home or in the wilds of the world.

Plates click against each other, cabinets close in the kitchen,
Son is making himself a midnight dinner,
because the first was not enough for a lanky 18 year old body.

Time to nourish himself in a silent house,
being his own man,
held by the bounty owed the young.
He still grunts like an animal
when he comes across an especially satisfying bite.

Daughter blessed me with the elder stuffy,
the grandfather of her crew,
my guardian monster.
I’ll wake and sleep, wake and sleep, 
as Dog and Cat, poke at me with bored interest,
dishes land in the sink,
the great slumber ship wends
its way,
slowly,
to a blurry sunrise.

She started this playdate 13 years ago when she first arrived,
never a breath without seeking joy,
even through the sudden shocks of childhood,
and the great, endlessly echoing loss of Mother.

His meals are a reminder that he’ll leave home soon,
and she and I will continue this playdate until it’s her time to make midnight bites and remember
when an old man who cuddled stuffed animals was her best adventure friend.