I lay awake in bed, listening
to the wind with the night
like something dropped
from some great height
through the house. I sneak down
the stairs, the wood
creaking under my weight
and sit on the last step
Around the wall, my parents
are still alive, watching TV
Its light cuts across the floor
and I want to see what
bathes the room in blue
I want them to know
my thoughts tomorrow
I don’t know it now but
they know I’m here, hiding
listening to sitcom laughter
passing through the wall. I keep
so still I hear the breath come
to my lung. I hear it now
as my father rises to carry me
back to bed. In the night in the dark
it’s like forever moving you on
Brian McCabe lives in New York, where he teaches English. He received a BA from The New School and an MA from Hunter College. His recent work can be found in Counterclock, The Sunlight Press, and elsewhere.