post the hundred-twenty-third, 2013

lights out.
you stare at the ceiling, waiting
for the room to quiet.
listen to the other girls drift off,
one by one by one.
there's ten in all, counting you,
so it's nine of them -
nine pillows shift,
nine blankets rustle,
nine sets of springs squeal
as nine little bodies squirm.
until finally,
one by one by one,
they still.
the room fills with the rhythm of eighteen sleeping lungs.

gently, push back the sheets, the blanket,
and ease out of the squeaky bed
to sit crosslegged on cold linoleum
pulling on socks, lacing keds.
reach under the bed to retrieve
the flashlight and sweatshirt
from where you stowed them.
then rise slowly, cautiously,
alert to any hint of wakefulness among the nine,
and step carefully over the cracked vinyl
between the beds
around the detritus of ten girls,
your path sporadically lit by a moon
trying valiantly to show the clouds who's boss.

at the end of the room you pause,
look back over the room,
and notice a pair of eyes watching you.
"go to sleep, mae-bell," you whisper.
"where are you going, 'lecia?"
"to the pot," you whisper sternly,
"you to back to sleep."

and then you turn quickly and walk out the door,
into the cedar-scented night.