I like the quiet space of night after all are asleep. The clock ticks on the wall. Somewhere in the next room, a fly buzzes. The wind sighs around the house, and I feel every drafty breath of it on my bare legs. In this calm darkness, lighted only by the last, humming flourescent left on before bed, I think. My hand is on the switch, and I am alone in my thoughts, comfortable, like later I’ll be under three comforters next to my husband.
In this small space of night, I find myself again.