To My Brother Ian Who Lives on the Autism Spectrum--
ii. Night Watch
by Joan Goodreau
In the dark of
our closed-door room
I do karate moves
timed to my brother’s rocking
back and forth in bed.
My toes step on Legos
and trip over stuffed animals
who somehow sleep through
Ian’s humming and finger snapping.
At last I creep through
the silent house to check locks on
both the front and back doors—
my job at last done
I lay on the rug
beside my mother’s bed
and listen to her breathing
even and smooth
the only rhythm I fall asleep to.