Coming back always went fast.
We fell asleep on the rear seat
in happy tangle and were home
before we wished it.
My father carried us
to our beds, my younger
brothers limp and soft,
easily moved.
I was too old
for such attention,
and feigning sleep
I’m sure he knew.
He picked me up
all dangling legs and arms,
my face in his shoulder
of tobacco and wool,
trudged up the stairs.
By hall light
he put me down gently
took off my shoes
covered me up, clothes and all.
Then tip toed out
leaving the door ajar.
—Peggy Trojan, Brule