Sandman Whispers

If you listen closely,

When the hall clock chimes

In the 11th hour, Grandma’s

Voice still whispers like a

Soft forgotten breeze, “hush

Children do you hear the sandman

Calling your names?”

As little girls, my sister and I

Desperately tried to convince her

We weren’t tired. We tried to stifle

The raspy yawns that flowed out on

A never-ending wave of drowsiness,

Ready to drown us, in the realm

Of the sleep keeper, on the blissful

Black tides of dreams.

The crickets hummed under the window,

While we lumbered creakily up the old

Wooden stairs, we three ascended to

The faint whirring of fans and snores,

Like foghorns erupting from the harbor

Of the room shared by our Dad and Uncles.

We tiptoed down the singing floorboards

Like mice through the dark summer night

As Grandma lead our sleepy train chugging

Down the hallway, to the depot of sleep.

Our room would fill with the sound of

Autumn leaves rustling and crackling

As Grandma pulled back comforters

And sheets. We’d peel off the light

Layers of linen shorts and cotton tees

For the silky swish of sateen nighties

All made by her love worn hands.

Our prayers said, we’d slide between

The sheets swimming against dreams’

Gentle tide to hear, Grandma’s voice

Whispering once more, “Sleep tight

My angels, for the sandman is calling

Your names.”

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