I leave the window open,
no matter how cold,
so we can hear them
as she falls asleep,
high pitched and sweet.
Later as the rest of the house sleeps
I think about each choice I have made,
what I did and what else I could have done.
Maybe if I had made another choice
things would be better, perfect even.
Or maybe we would still be here in this,
or some very similar, uncomfortable place.
So I try to listen to a friend who tells me,
You are one hell of a mother,
and this time I am glad
to be alone and awake at this hour.
I have missed this song.