A crack of light
peeks through the door frame.
I wonder,
What time is it?
5:00 am, ugh.
Then I hear a muffled noise.
Sitting up, I listen harder.
As if thinking about the silence
makes it louder.
Silence has no volume control.
I hear the noise again.
Did someone say...mom?
Much like spidey-sense, my mom-dar is up.
I hear it again.
That's it. I'm up.
Quietly I step toward the kids' rooms.
I listen right, then left.
Arie, are you calling out?
You could hear me?
I just don't feel good.
Arie sighs into a gurgly moan.
Does something hurt?
My head aches.
My throat is dry.
My nose burns.
Hmmm, thermometer time.
100.2 not a true fever
but true enough
to change our plans.
Oh no; I hope the kiddo feels better soon. Your slice is full of vivid word play. I connected with “mom-dar “ and liked how you contrasted “not a true fever” to “true enough to change plans.”
ReplyDeleteLove this line: "Silence has no volume control." So true.
ReplyDeleteThe combination of spare, precise details and the color-coded sections render the familiar story in a new light for this reader.
ReplyDeleteThe rhythm of this poems builds suspense--are you hearing things or is there a real "mom" call.
ReplyDeleteFavorite line: "Much like spidey-sense, my mom-dar is up"
There's so much to like in this post. Your mom-dar, your use of colors, the specific details (the crack of light peeking through the door frame), but being sick on spring break is not something to like.
ReplyDelete