AUTHOR: Sara TITLE: Poetry . . . DATE: 2/24/2005 09:14:00 PM ----- BODY:

I came home tonight, opening the door to the familiar music my husband was playing on the television, my dog happily dancing around, waiting for her food. I kind of smiled at Mike and went through the motions of getting Chloe's food ready, putting her medication in her bowl, and refilling her water. Mike watched me from the living room and asked what was wrong. I've lost my voice, thanks to this ongoing sinus thing, so I quietly whispered to him reassuringly that I was fine as I tore open the pregnancy test. I walked in a daze to the downstairs bathroom, moving through the motions of positioning the stick and counting to five as I took careful notice of my plant that needed watering and attention. I laid the stick down on the sink and finally took off my shoes and made my way over to Mike, who was still pouting from my entrance. He wanted to get a bite to eat and asked if I wanted to go. I shrugged, but slid my shoes back on and grabbed the test off the sink. For some reason, the poetry in that moment was momentous . . . Mike turned up the Rattle and Hum concert that was on the High-definition channel, the song "Wide Awake" blaring through the surround sound all around me as I looked at the test. One pink line. As I sang the words to myself, Mike quietly took the test from my hand and placed it on the counter. He put his hand in mine and in the dark, with that beautiful, shimmering light from the fish tank throwing shadows on his face, I felt like I was exactly that. Wide Awake.

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