Night Watch

A poem

I miss the days when I had a baby
to hold in the late watches of
Night, when the house was still but
for her crying—crying that only stopped 
when I picked her up and nestled her 
into the crook of my neck.
She did not always readily surrender 
to the idea of sleep, so I would sway 
and hum, the sound vibrating from my heart
to hers.

Now my house is full 
of sleeping ones. There is no one
to keep me awake at night but myself.
I’m much more demanding than my girls ever were. I require 
an accounting of my day—
my thoughts, my actions, my failures.
I want to stop thinking altogether and merely breathe
in and out,
in and out, 
but my thoughts are not so easily soothed. 

There is no remedy.
Who will hold me when panic sets in? 
Who will hum until I am asleep?

My fear is a drum beating loudly in my ear, 
and the noise is too much for sleep. When all I can do 
is watch the numbers on the clock change,
I remember the One who lives outside of time. 
He never slumbers, never takes a power nap. 
He is Power. 

What if I imagine myself as a child again,
and He is my Father? Eternally awake, He gently hums 
while I lie curled up in His lap, 
my cares falling to the floor as my breathing slows
and peace enfolds me like a blanket.

One of my favorite pics of my youngest.

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This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "Sleepless."