The day rolled round for guests to bid adieu.
Hug and wave goodbye.
Ferry to train stations, airports.
Vacating mattresses, beds, cribs.
Kitchen chairs, bean bags.
Surrendering the house to echoes.
Distant giggles, conversations, cries.
Whiffs of waffles.
Empty snack wrappers.
Adjustments for brain, soul, body.
Not to have those babies, their parents nearby.
Rather recollections.
That could vanish.
If we wash too well.
Or slip into busy routines.
But, on the very last night something imprinted into memory.
Elias, nine, insisted on sleeping alone.
On a king mattress in the basement.
A boy cave.
A place of his own.
Swaggering to his lair.
Assuring me he’d be fine.
Leave, Yaya, he commanded.
So, up to my bedroom I went.
No sooner bathed, I heard a rap.
A whine, I can’t stay there! I saw a mouse!
Grandpop took him to retrieve bedding.
So he could sleep beside us.
In the morning, he turned to his cousins, four and two.
Said, guess what? I saw a mouse last night.
The two-year-old smiled.
Quipped, I saw an alligator.
Then turned to his brother.
Asked, what did you see, Ez?
A little video.
Sugar for the mind.
To tickle the tummy.
Pull out and rewind!
Lynn Benjamin
April 24, 2023
