"Sleepwalking" by Makili Matty (York County)
light falls through the window
over her on the step
she knocks and steps in
the kitchen is a dim yellow
they sit under the glow
at the island
the isle of black granite
a bag of pretzels sits between them
she steps into the mudroom
her hand rests against the door frame
as she raises up
out of her shoes
her socks on the hardwood
and theirs on the stool
and mine on the stone
before the fireplace
it's warm
the dial on the iron reads burn zone
flames lick the glass
golden and earthly orange
steam rises from the stove
I weave my way through the couches
the water bubbles up over the pot
I hurry to stir
she sits on the couch
what movie should we watch?
the steam billows up into my face
dampens my hair
whichever
we sit around the fire
bowls of pasta and pesto
sliced cherry tomatoes and artichoke hearts
I sit on the floor
against the wood box
they laugh above me
their legs dangling by my shoulders
it's warm and the pasta is warm
and the kitchen lights aren't too bright
we sit in the dark
cramped on a larger couch
lights flash on the screen
the glass doors reflect our faces
the cold hides just beyond
out in the field
hidden by the darkness
she's next to me
under the same blanket
pressed into each other from both sides
dim light flickers over us
she breathes slowly
rising and falling
she shifts harder into me
I hear my breath
my hand twitches at my side
but doesn't move
the movie falls on
over the seconds and minutes
and I drift into the darkness
I wake up in the darkness
the screen is black
she's still pressed into me
her hair spilled over my shoulder
her breathing is so slow
I lay in the darkness
the rise and fall of everyone's breath
on mattresses on the floor
covered in quilts
finally
I rise from the couch
tread carefully over the fallen bodies
up the short stairs
into another room
under another quilt
my chest burns
and my stomach is heavy and hollow
now light spills in through the curtain
I roll from the mattress
onto the floor
my eyes strain
I rise blind
to the door
and back down the stairs
the ground is still a mass of blankets
of rising and falling heaps
I turn back into the kitchen
take out the flour and the sugar and milk
the iron beeps
she stumbles in the room
waffles?
she looks at me through closed eyes
hmm
she sits beside me on the stool
I pour batter onto the cast iron
she stares at the bowl of batter
do you have a pair of shorts I can borrow?
I peel the waffles from the press
they flop onto the plate
sure
I give her the maple syrup
and wander back up the stairs
to the basket
I pull out an old pair of blue shorts
and head silently back down
why'd you leave?
I imagine she says
my breath catches
I don't know
she takes the shorts
her eyes still squinting
she closes the bathroom door
light spills into the kitchen
through the stained glass sun
red and yellow and purple and green
dance over the granite
and along the glass cupboards
she emerges and sits down
she stares at her waffles
laughs from sleep and silence
and I laugh too
everyone is up now
the masses of blankets have risen
and spooned whipped cream onto plates
quiet but for whispers
everyone afraid to break the morning
dancing through the dust in the air
golden and glittering
goodbye
she calls
bye
I squeeze the sponge
soap runs over my fingers and into the bowl
I smile
Makili Matty is a senior in Kittery, Maine. He loves writing poetry, as well as skating on the pond, hiking through the White Mountains, and drawing from his back patio. "Sleepwalking" is a poem inspired by memories of staying up late to watch movies and waking up early to make waffles.