Poems & Essays

15 Oct

Night Life

General/Column 2 Responses

I’ve lived an extra week at least
in the two months my daughter has been alive.

So many extra days
of nighttime wakefulness,
feeding and changing her,
my mind a bored, drowsy blur
of dreams interrupted
and ignoring my unending to-do list
at 3AM.

I longed for daylight
to brighten the bedroom window,
since I wasn’t sleeping anyway,
to have an excuse to escape this prison
of bed-to-crib-to-rocking-chair
and back.

I longed for 6AM,
since I wasn’t sleeping anyway,
so the coffeemaker would click on,
and fill the air with its warm aroma—
my cell-key to leave this room,
which I have memorized by half-light,
while my husband slumbered on.

So many extra hours,
but nothing more accomplished
in all that time, except
the repetitive work of caring for my baby—
whom I love,
but in a drowsy way.




Ellen Horarik has been a poet, musician and performer for as long as she can remember, influenced by her own writer-mother. Raised in the Midwest, she moved to Colorado with her family as a teen, ultimately settling there with her husband and now-one-year-old daughter.

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  1. Cindy Provorse

    October 15, 2018 at 7:55 pm

    Brought me back to the haze of motherhood in those early months! Couldn’t have done it without my mother’s help in those first weeks. Thanks for sharing.

  2. Karen DeBonis

    October 20, 2018 at 12:27 pm

    It did feel like a prison – I remember, and it’s been 27 years! You captured it beautifully.


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Dads October 15, 2018 Eclipsed October 15, 2018