NIGHT CHILD

Sometimes
I sneak in, tiptoeing.
I try hard not
to be tipsy.
No one must know.

I get to breakfast
and little sister asks
“Where were you when
I had mares?”
but I always utter nonsense.
Mother knows.
She has always known.

Sometimes
I come home
slamming the door,
to hell if anyone knows.
Mother rolls in bed.
She has never slept.

If she comes in now,
my chest will affirm
her fears that like
the verse suggests,
I’m a child of the night,
shunning day,
cleaving to the dark

everyday,
everyday
till I slip away.

©MOJOYIN AGBONDE

IG: mojoyin_ceejay

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