A family of Playmobil people
trekking across my face
and they just went back
to get their boat
which is now parked
on my neck
the wriggling warm body
on top of me
like a thirty-pound seatbelt
his stomach pushing into mine
which I understand to mean
only after it is done
that he is pooing
a high-pitched shrieking
version of Twinkle Twinkle
that invades my head
and becomes a dream
about a plane crash
and this morning
when the heavy hum of sleep
is pierced by shards of light
I bury my face like a wretched bug
which must have inspired pity
in my son’s wide-awake heart
because he closes the curtain
and lets me tunnel my way
back into the fog
while he pets my cheek
like I am a newborn cat
and whispers
good mama
good mama.