A Slice of Night

Samantha Zeitlin

I know the night is not a pie
but I wanted to ask this morning
if we had a slice leftover
the way mom used to save us a little
birthday cake for breakfast.
I woke to the screams of women
muffled in the hiss and pricker of popping-
     corn sized hail.
we guessed they were mudsliding on the hill
but never got out of bed to check.
sitting up in bed, looking at the dark
fuzziness of my belongings, I realized that
these shadows were too late
becoming home
because really, that's all it takes: being
awake in the stripe of streetlight
looking at the objects that seem so
useful during the day, shapeless monsters
at night without my glasses to
give them purpose and pricetag.