Why
do you sing in the middle of the night?
My grandfather asked
“Why do you sing in the middle of the night?”
but he refused to call what we did music.
We were falling
down
stairs
with pots and pans.
Definitely.
Not.
Music.
But I took the compliment
where I could.
He called what I did singing.
Once.
Even if the hours I kept
kept him awake at night.
Sleepless.
Not quite his age but on my way.
Old enough to think
about the birds just outside
my window at 3 AM
festively carrying on.
It is neither barely morning
or freshly night and
I wouldn’t even call it singing.
It is a joyous racket;
notes floating
among
the
branches
of my family tree.
