One midnight I lay in bed
Reading a thick tome of a book
It was a “best of” collection
Encompassing an entire century of stories
A Mom in one story
would sleep all night with her music on
----Just as my Mom did
My Mom was scared of the dark
She told me that---her daughter
The one she was supposed to protect
To keep safe
To make sure that that stretch of time
Between bedding down and waking
Brought nothing but sweet exhalations
When I read that line
About this other mother
I wondered if Mom used music
As a buffer between herself and her fears
I wondered
If that had occurred to me earlier
If I would have been the one
To quietly enter her night-darkened room
Place a gentle hand upon her cheek
Kiss her brow
And let her know
That nothing would disturb her
Because I was there
Yes, I was there