Maybe the weight we’re all carrying will tip the scales

I

t’s the middle of the night and there’s a siren.

Then it’s quiet.

And you lie there, waiting for another one, your whole body listening. You think the kids are still asleep. If they’re up, really up, you gotta hold that little someone in the dark and say, “It’s okay, it’s okay” with a calm you’re borrowing from some place you can’t name.

You’ve been borrowing from that place for a long time now.

All day, no matter what you’re doing, you’re also listening out for a siren. Talking and listening. Cooking and listening. Playing and listening. Singing and listening. Listening and listening.

The days are long in a way that’s hard to explain.