Mama is home
Typing.
We hear her from our beds
In the small room
At the end of the corridor.
Mama is home
She is writing a story.
The sound of her typewriter
Chimes and raindrops
Soothing, calming.
Mama is home
And at least tonight
She won’t leave us
Disappear for months
Before coming back.
Tonight we feel warm and cozy
Each ticking of the typewriter
A potion of contentment
That finally lulls us to sleep