Work Night

by Sara Henry

We’re alone in the speechless house and
I’m sitting at my wooden desk and
My dad is sitting at his wooden desk and
I can hear his pen scribbling downstairs and
He can hear my pen scribbling upstairs
A harmony of scratches and chair creaks

He takes a call
With a business associate and
I take a call
With the talking moon

His mouth speaks softly about the rising investment proposal and
My hand writes softly about the pale moan lifting my bones

I become entranced in my work and
He becomes entranced in his work and
We’re one beating force rushing
Tirelessly into the night