Routine

My daughter goes to bed by the drumbeat
of routine: snack, brush, story, poems,
prayers, hug, kiss, I love you, good night.
It works so well that when she isn’t
tired, she sings herself to sleep.

But I also like the times that she makes
the drum's heart skip. I can see in how
she smiles that she’s listening to it
in her head. So when she says “one more
story” it’s to hear the poem's chant
echo out of dead air in the bedroom.
When she wants more poems, it’s to hear
the darkness pray out on its own.

I imagine this for her, of course.
What else could I do when she laughs
and says “no kiss, no hug,” but pretend
she’s balancing them both in the air
just above her small, tired body
and waiting until her eyes are just
about to close to let them drop down.