“At the Dinner Table at Night,” a Poem by Allen Guy Wilcox
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You’ve gone to bed with the baby again, as I step
gingerly through the house, searching for quiet projects
I can take to completion and leave for you like origami.
Each room for you to wake in as you wander,
brewing a gift like morning coffee, the raw ends
of your several lists now seared and cooling.
It’s much nicer when we can sit here
as a family a few moments longer, while our girl
begins to improvise tomorrow aloud, ticking off
her list of necessaries, countermanding the plot
with reasonabl
gingerly through the house, searching for quiet projects
I can take to completion and leave for you like origami.
Each room for you to wake in as you wander,
brewing a gift like morning coffee, the raw ends
of your several lists now seared and cooling.
It’s much nicer when we can sit here
as a family a few moments longer, while our girl
begins to improvise tomorrow aloud, ticking off
her list of necessaries, countermanding the plot
with reasonabl
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