Sleep

I will sleep with your nose pressed deep into the hollow created between my collarbone and my neck while my mother sleeps entangled in the nightmares that have haunted her since birth while my father sleeps with his head and his work buried underneath the comfort of the pillow while my sister lies awake with memories of the boy that kissed her hand and called her magical under the stars while my brother stares at the closet door and dares it to open while my grandfather takes his last breath while my grandmother snores softly beside him while my aunt cries into the dark room while my uncles takes the couch while I breathe in your soft, delicate curls that smell of rain and grass and safety.