Kristen McIntyre

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.