The morning before you were born I woke up
in a puddle, alone in bed.
Your dad had fallen asleep on the couch
watching tv, and never made it up.
Three days later when we returned
the sheets were a mess, just as I had left them.
Everything looked the same
but felt infinitely different.
I must have cried at least ten times
wishing he hadn’t slept
that last night
on the couch.