The Intangible Tongue

My father has been my alarm-clock,
Awaking before the dawn,

sandwiched alone
inside that barren time between asleep and awake.
When even the company of the careless cars outside has failed him,
and the air is too crisp to breathe.

Those sandaled feet make there way down the stairs,
I hear him brace himself against the banister,
I hear him sigh

Flowing past my door,
through the hall,
until he reaches the kitchen.

Sometimes I’ll get up to see him,
Surprise him while he cleans his wife’s cup,
(gently; with warm soap and quiet water)
and fills it with hot chocolate for the day.
But mostly I stay curled up in bed,
Idly listening to him hum love songs to himself,
As he makes 6 sandwiches
For his 6 children.