Why is it both
the best feeling
and the worst
to see the look
of anguish if not
outright terror
on the face of
our child refusing
to be lullabied
to bed by mother
instead reaching out
to my arms in protest
only mollified when
molded into the shape
of my shoulders as
moments quieten
recounting the day
and whatever song
does not cause
a stretching neck
to say a certain no
until the sense
that whispering
the words back to bed
will be repeated
and I can let our child
down into the crib
resisting sullen sleep
until I leave the room
as mother downstairs
monitors our child
still in grainy video
fast if her figure is
identifiable at all
Joshua Keiter 