But before the trance that is childhood sleep,
laughter filtered back from the grown-ups
playing cards in the living room, my grown-ups,

their cadence of familiar voices like weights
on my eyelids, some discussion of the last trick,
what each thought their partner was up to

(tricks and partners, I knew that much),
clink of ice cubes in glasses, an aunt’s trill
taking the voice of some long-ago cousin,

rat-a-tat-tat of cards being shuffled, fresh cards,
that new deck with mysterious birds, the one
I’d seen this morning, still plastic wrapped,

the deck I knew was special, waiting for tonight,
the wrapping I knew I should not unwrap
even though it looked like a toy – I was learning,

not everything in this world was meant for me.
And in that vale of pre-sleep, my ears
the last to depart the day, it would not be truthful

to say I felt safe in my room with its night-light —
the concept of being unsafe was foreign,
it would have had to be explained to me,

heir to this house filled with maiden great-aunts,
the clomp-clomp of old lady shoes on back stairs
restful as surf sounds, each wave so unique

yet blending to a whole same as these card game
noises tonight usher me into sleep’s realm,
clatter of the shuffle, silence of the deal.