There is no greater calm than the stillness of Nathaniel sleeping. The
whole house rests.
The whole house breathes out, relaxes
—even the washing machine.
There it is in the corner, its eye finally closed.
When he falls asleep
in his too-hot, moose pajamas
the room fills up with rich, milky, warm, sweet, sweatyness. This
orchid scent
soporific but I'm like the cow, still standing,
because its my calf, nobody else's, half hidden in the hay.
Isn't it a Midsummer Night's Dream
where some fairy or other says, "Do not disturb her dream?"
The dream of the Queen of the Fairies.
The dream of the baby of the Queen.
The most innocent.
The best-beloved.
The so hard to stay awake.
Elizabeth Bastos works in corporate and foundation relations and moonlights as a freelance writer. Her essays have appeared in the Appalachian Mountain Club Magazine, Shambala Sun, and McSweeneys. She lives in Watertown, MA with her husband and young son.
