She wakes moments before the baby.
The night is still,
Silent.
She peels back the covers
And begins
The barefooted dance
Through the house
Once her feet hit the cold wooden floor.
She tip-toes her way
Into the dark,
Eyes closed,
Side-stepping toys,
The dog,
The creaking floorboard,
Without a flicker of light.
She moves through door frames and rooms,
Guided by her memory and hands that
Graze over furniture like braille
Telling a bedtime story.
Fingers skirt along the piano,
The backs of kitchen chairs,
The chipped molding that frames the living room.
She reaches through the night,
Grasps the doorknob in its place.
The familiar click and crack
Of an old door opening.
She steps into the room,
Slides her fingers along the edge of the crib
Just as the baby whimpers.
Swift and gentle,
She bends and lifts her daughter
Upside-down.