The kitchen light turns on
Its warm tone makes my translucent door glow
I wonder who it is, a little disturbed
Like the sanctity of my sleepless hours
Has been intruded upon by another unwanted
Gesture of reality.
Then I realize it is Baba
Boiling water and rummaging for a fork
And I realize it is already 6am
And he is packing up for work.
Suddenly I feel safe, a little cozy
He cracks open my door and as quietly as he can,
Shuffles into my bedroom
I bury my phone under my pillow, shut my eyes unrealistically tight
Baba turns off my fan, probably thinking I’m too cold
My feet are still too warm
But I don’t mind.
The four last hours I’ve lost lightly presses onto my chest– soft, reassuring hands telling me
It’s OK to sleep now.
The front door closes, he’s gone for work now.
I’ll see him in 10 hours–
For now, I rest,
The peeking sun casting patterns
Through my window blinds.