“What will I eat mum” You say in your sleep Our first night away in the van. The next words are at 4am When you start a cheerful Rendition Of ‘Father Christmas Is Coming Down The Chimney’. This time not asleep But fully awake. “Sleep some more please poppet” I say “I can see a bird on the fire pit Is the fire out?” You say “Where are all the men’s and woman’s? I like you mummy, I love you mummy, We love each other mummy” “I love you poppet. Please can you go back to sleep” “But it’s light” You say “It’s daytime” You say “Not yet pickle, People are still asleep. It’s still very early in the morning” “It’s quiet mummy” “Yes it is. Please go back to sleep” “We can sing together, Sing with me” And so this carries on For what seems like a very long time I drift in and out of sleep Like a fever My body so heavy It feels like a pack of sand And I can’t work out how I’ll function Until bedtime. By lunchtime we’ve done everything And you ask to go to sleep And you’re still asleep 2 hours later. Bliss. But I think of the night to come And the panic Of being woken again I need to wake you up But you’re like a pack of sand Dreaming of parallel lands.
little voices 