Daylight Savings by Jill Bialosky

Daylight Savings

There was the hour

when raging with fever

they thrashed. The hour

when they called out in fright.

The hour when they fell asleep

against our bodies, the hour

when without us they might die.

The hour before school

and the hour after.

The hour when we buttered their toast

and made them meals

from the four important food groups—

what else could we do to ensure they’d get strong and grow?

There was the hour when we were spectators

at a recital, baseball game,

when they debuted in the school play.

There was the silent hour in the car

when they were angry. The hour

when they broke curfew. The hour

when we waited for the turn of the lock

knowing they were safe and we could finally

close our eyes and sleep. The hour

when they were hurt

or betrayed and there was nothing we could do

to ease the pain.

There was the hour

when we stood by their bedsides with ginger-ale

or juice until the fever broke. The hour

when we lost our temper and the hour

we were filled with regret. The hour

when we slapped their cheeks and held

our hand in wonder.

The hour when we wished for more.

The hour when their tall and strong bodies,

their newly formed curves and angles in their faces

and Adam’s apple surprised us—

who had they become?

Hours when we waited and waited.

When we rushed home from the office

or sat in their teacher’s classroom

awaiting the report of where they stumbled

and where they excelled, the hours

when they were without us, the precious hour

we did not want to lose each year

even if it meant another hour of daylight.