Different at Night

She's different at night. 

The daytime people don't know her. When there is no one to smile at or sing to, she goes far away, stands on top of the world and looks down to feel the largeness of space and brevity of time. Her face tells the story even when words are far from her mouth.

When they do come, she confirms what you thought you heard her say... It's almost over. My heart is giving way. Jesus will take care of me and he will take great care of you too.

In an hour or so, she wants to brush her teeth, shave her whiskers, and yes to wiping her face. Her friends are coming in a few hours. 

She sinks back to sleep, right up until her friends walk through the door. 

She pinks up and smiles. 

Kisses and hugs and stories fill the room followed by more and more people with their own kisses and hugs and stories. Like a movie of her whole life where the characters from different chapters bump into each other for once and for all.

She performs her favorite song surrounded by an audience of a lifetime. Her head nods and she sports a knowing smile. Her hand taps and the words stumble out or go quiet when they get confused or don't match what that guy is singing so well.

In the middle of the night, I go walking in my sleep...

Chips and dip and margaritas, and they left as they came. Slumber returned before they made it to the end of the hall.

When she goes, she said we'll know she made it to heaven when we hear a big crack of thunder.

Her room is dark, except for the light escaping from the bathroom so we can see her face. She sleeps in her wheelchair, determined not to get back into bed. 

The rumble of a storm approaches with an occasional flash of light. She is laid back and covered and her breathing is slight.

She parties by day but she is different at night.