Whispers in the Night
By John Herlihy

There now, another cold, bleak night,
The night held the winter as hostage,
The threat of warning, an uncertainty,
The wind, the chill, the silence all bite.
The couple lay under quilted blankets.
The bed springs made a familiar noise,
Giving a normalizing voice to the night.
I use her to get through the day, he thought,
Without him, what would be the day, she thought.
As they lay there, only their arms touched;
It was more than enough, routine has its own way,
Exceptions have their place, but not tonight,
As they both fall asleep, all seems forthright.

I am getting a little too fond of you, he said aloud.
People need to be fond of each other, she replied.
He liked her down-home wisdom, her truth, her smile;
She liked his honesty, his soberness, his eyes.
Now they really were both falling asleep,
Another day gone; whish-a-whish, another day done.
One last thing, he thought to himself, as he drifted:
I always feel you save me, you keep me to my senses.
One last thing, she thought to herself, as she drifted:
You are all there is to life, that’s what saves me.
The whispers died down like soft piano notes that fade.
The crescent moon hid its face behind a snow cloud.
The somber night listened to the world as they slept.