Miracle On Trailside Ct.

Downstairs,
the nightlight was on, which
couldn't detect wind or gas like
a candle flame.
 
Upstairs, my father, asleep
in his slightly dipped down side of the bed
feigned deep slumber
for work was so near.
 
Her eye fluttering, my mother was dreaming.
The sheet moved slowly with each breath.
 
In my room,
my eyes were shit tight
not allowing the moon past my eyelids, nor the day's wear.
 
Then she heard a subtle voice;
thinking it was a dream leaked into
our touchable world,
mother went back to her pillow's cradling lull.
 
She was awakened to a word, "gasss"
the lingering sound of a serpent.
 
This time, my mother tore the sheets asunder
from her waist, fleeing down the stairs.
 
With two hands before her
as if battling a stranger,
she shut
off
the burners of the stove.