We perch on the couch together,
I hold the light, while you thread the needle,
And we laugh about our failing eyes.
You are sewing my jammies, my early present,
So the flap doesn’t open and reveal me obscene.
I warm up a leftover grilled cheese you made the boy for lunch,
and it melts in my mouth, like a hug between two slices of bread
only you know how to make them so good.
We talk quietly together, and make plans to take a course together.
It seems like so long since this morning when I left for work.
It is good to be home.