by Darcy Rasmussen
She has kicked me awake for the nth time tonight, but this time she has the look that says I’m not going back to sleep. We gaze up at the dark ceiling together, she babbling about her day or her dreams; I desperately wishing for the escape of sleep, knowing that instinct will not allow it. I sing to calm her, sounding like an old Victrola as I run out of energy at the end of each phrase - she babbles on. There is a change that lets me know she’s ready, that she can be persuaded to resume her rest. Her body relaxes, her breathing deepens, she is an angel next to me. 5 AM... 0-500... 5 o’clock.
Darcy Rasmussen is.