I stretch another strip of packing
tape over the three holes and punch new
ones through it. I fold what I think
is a cricket in the bedspread while Lili cries out

for a Kleenex, then rummages through
the bedding bunched in her lap
for a black wolf spider. Which becomes just one
of the reasons I lie awake counting

breaths and commanding my body not
to stir, my ankles not to cross,
my nose not to itch. In the coverless scrapbook
of motorized vehicles I keep with my boy,

we flip though torn service cards, disembodied jeep
doors, a Hummer with Christmas tree
roof-strapped and polar bear in the passenger seat.
When I feel her weight lift

and bedsprings release, late night I cannot sleep,
I find the light on in the study:
my Montessori teacher wife on her phone,
ordering more books on the Scholastic website. 

– Cameron Morse