Monday Morning

He stumped into the kitchen this morning in his boxers. I moved silently out of his way. We are at an impasse already. At bedtime, his son sings and slams doors while my daughter tries to sleep. In the middle of the night, while they sleep, my little girl calls out for me, waking him.

Last night he said, “No one is getting any sleep.”

I moved in knowing things would be difficult, but what if this attempt to blend families is a mess?

My daughter’s dad left over lack of sleep, but he was always wrapped in shadows.

I still can’t sleep, but spend most nights silently brooding beside my new husband, trying to forget the old one. Sometimes I pad quietly down the stairs and stare into the plush dark, heartened by dim outlines of light.

Often, I wonder if I can ever sleep peacefully again.