Narration

While it is still dark, he is disturbed
by a child, damp with darkness and want.
He heats the water quietly, washes the child
awake. Here he descends with an awkward
gate and assumes a posture
that a child might take. This is intentional
discomfort, but with reaching hands.
He breathes out the pressure in his chest,
blowing a sigh across a crinkling page.
The wet hair of the son seeks the warm shoulder
of his father, but there is not enough
time before sunrise. Everyone else must open
their eyes and move quickly
through these morning skies. He sings
them through the routine -- fresh underwear,
vitamins and a final blessing. Depositing
the children and hoping for some interest,
he finally turns to his plans for the day -- how can he
do justice with the dreams of pioneers, the sins
of inattention, the fear of the Samaritans?
He eats a noon meal with an anxious eye
on his inbox. He knows his afternoon will lack
space for response. There is only a small ache
in his back when the last bell sends him out on the lines
of the tennis court. The lilting rhythm of the sport
is like a psalmic chant, lulling him asleep. Shaking
his racket and voice, he asks his team, Are we focusing
on our feet? Oh, they should be beautiful if
we are spreading enough good news.
His toes feel heavy and plodding. He drives home
to shower his sweaty body in a warm baptism, a new
beginning. He sits quietly in the rain
while his wife stirs a crock pot of curry.
Grains of sticky rice freckle his palm, and he gently
returns them to the bowl. He reads to his child,
as many stories as he can hear, until his wife calls
him downstairs to rub her feet. He loves this
final hour. Only one person to please
with a simple touch on repeat. Thumb across ankle,
thumb against heel -- like breathing. When she is asleep,
he turns off his lamp.

--
Matthew Miller teaches social studies, swings tennis rackets and writes poetry -- all hoping to create home. He and his wife live beside a dilapidating orchard in Indiana, where he tries to shape dead trees into playhouses for his four boys. His poetry has been featured in Whale Road Review, River Mouth Review, EcoTheo Review and Ekstasis Magazine.