I see you
throwing loads of piled laundry into
the washer – a hopeless endeavor
half asleep at two seconds to
midnight – the only time you have
to do anything
dust collects on face creams
made to recede wrinkles of exhaustion
dishes have piled high
but your hands are
as overworked as your mind
and instead – you stroke your sleeping
child in the dark
stealing back a few moments
lost in the commute
you made today to put
their cotton pajamas
on their body
so you whisper
I’m sorry
&
You’re welcome
&
I love you
into the dark
against their sleepy breaths