That's How My History Is

Back last December, Sukha
Woke us up three times between
One and five am, granting
Sleeplessness to all of us,
Finally forcing me up
For good with a true tantrum.
She and I went out and sulked

In the front room in the dark,
Slowly, slowly warming up
To each other as light broke,
Finally, on the cliff walls
At half past seven or so,
The world its cold, lovely self.
Sarah, who'd not slept at all,

Remained in bed. Old snow dripped
From the roof in the sunrise.
We negotiated shows,
Breakfast, hair brush, pigtails, clothes.
We made it, just, to preschool
On time. It was my first time
As the parent who drops off.

I made my introductions
To the teacher, dads, and moms.
Sukha gave me a jump hug,
Then went to join the others.
I drove home, thinking of things
To tell Sarah when she woke,
Feeling strangely ambitious

After such a simple task.
Half the night I had counted
Breaths to distract me from thoughts
Of what I could or should do
With the day. The subjunctive
Will not cease from troubling me,
However I disdain it.

Now, there I was. At the stone
Dining table, determined
To make something of myself
That would not erode. The day
Shifted in its subtle way.
The light was soft. I composed
Myself and waited for it.