Even then
I had a difficult time
sleeping
at night.

So I would wait

in my room
until my family
was asleep. And I
would creep,
as quiet as I could,
into the living
room

and watch
old
television shows

with the volume
turned down
as low
as I could
and still
manage to hear.

First came the comedies.
Mary Tyler Moore and
Dick Van Dyke and
I Love Lucy.
I liked those
shows okay,
I guess.

But I was really
waiting
for the dramas.

Dragnet was great.
Criminals of every sort
unfailingly brought
to justice
by the straight-faced
detectives.

The finalé of every
night
was Alfred Hitchcock Presents,
a show that filled
me with horror
every time. Afterward,
I would turn off
the television and
sit in the darkness.

And every time,
for some reason,
I would begin to grow
more and more
afraid

that my mother
had died in her sleep
while I
was watching
television.

So I would creep,
as quiet as I could,
into her
bedroom,

and I would
listen
as hard as I could
for her breathing.

Usually,
I couldn’t hear it
and my heart would
freeze in my chest, so
I would lean in
and place a finger
beneath her nose
to make sure
that she was
still alive.