Fatigue

Fatigue arrives
like a rolling pin
pressing the air out
of my conversation.
I am limp,
too tired to pee.
My eyebrows do their best
to hoist my eyelids open
but they burn
begging to collapse.
There is a swollenness
to this exhaustion
as if even my blood
is groggy.
The night is short
and morning is still underground
when he wakes,
hot sweet breath
in my face.
He wants to play
but I am not his mother:
please won’t someone explain to him
I have become cement.
He can’t crawl
but he rolls and pushes his way
down to my hands
which he takes in his own
and begins a private
quiet game.
I wake up and see
that a thick long hour has passed.
He is still holding
my hands, smiling
and I could weep
at his kindness.