For this moment my sons sleep
sleeping as men do
driving down, greedily,
into their dreams.
For this moment
they have survived a day of life.
I know the oldest will have wrapped one leg with twisted sheets
and his brother’s chin will lift
as if to feel
a warm rain on his face.
I imagine the sky flares and shadows
the sirens and the screams.
Tonight other mothers’ sons are bleeding
as my sons wend softly toward dawn.
Author: Laura Wisniewski
Laura Wisniewski is a poet and Yoga therapist. She lives in a small town in Vermont among family and friends. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Ithaca Women’s Anthology, DownStreet Magazine, Hunger Mountain and Canary.