Barbara Helfgott Hyett



-after Michael Mack


My name is Bedtime.  Everything
is on my floor.  All night the waves.

All night the shouting and the waves.
I am alone among everything

on the floor.  My small bed.  My M
& M’s.  I am alone or maybe

there’s a bear, stuffed flatly, not
growling, but a kind of motorized


grind from behind his red felt
lips.  My name is Sleepy.  The bear

will not be quiet.  My parents
forget me from the living room.


My name is Morning.  On my street,
all the doors are open.  Sometimes

they’re closed.  Sometimes there
are no grown-ups all day.  We have

no keys.  Nothing of mine
breaks here. The doors are

solid firmament and all
the keyholes, stars.  The keyholes

kneel to see themselves.  The sea
breathes every hour.  I keep a plaid umbrella

on my doorknob.  Sometimes I borrow.
Sometimes I make a poem of my life.




Published by Ibbetson Magazine