going to church, watching you sleep

BY ADAM HUGHES

GOING TO CHURCH
You'd think we were setting out on the Hajj,
packing our bags for golden-roofed Medina
and prophet-kissed Mecca. Three trips to the car,
Bibles and baby toys, diaper bags and enough
lanolin for a troupe of midwives. Part dad,
part preacher, part Sherpa, we'll get to the summit
eventually. But I can't guarantee we won't leave
something behind.
 
Just please, don't let it be the Boppy.
 
Packed and finally ready to depart, church starts
in 10 minutes, 11 minutes away. Something
tells me I'm not in the right frame of mind to preach.
I'd blame it on the baby, but she's not the one
who bought all this crap. Halfway to church
 
we remember the diaper bag.

WATCHING YOU SLEEP
Close your fairy-kissed eyes;
I'll be here when you wake up.
Dream your dreams that I can only
imagine, images I can't comprehend.
I watch your mouth move, eyes fluttering
and wonder what visions you see,
what nocturnal tales you could
tell me. Do you dream of an endless
 
string of cars and bottles and dry diapers?
I should sleep too, but I can't
resist just watching you. You'll wake
soon enough. In the flash of a lightning
bug, it's morning. I wake you up
to begin the new day and you cry
at the sight of the sun.
 
But it's okay, Dad. The next sleep is only
17 hours away.

Adam Hughes is a writer and pastor from Lancaster, Ohio. He is a graduate of Ohio Christian University and his poety has appeared in several online and print journals, including: The Houston Literary Review, Flutter Poetry Journal, The Boston Literary Magazine, and Gloom Cupboard. He also sits on the editorial board for Triggerfish Critical Review. He enjoys being outside, reading, and spending time with his wife and infant daughter. He can be reached at tatelestai@yahoo.com.