Separate Bedrooms

you kiss me goodnight, turn off the lamp,
and leave, pulling the door closed behind you
after tucking me into my own room

alone in this capacious bed, I remember when
we would spoon while a cat no longer living
wedged between us,

into the warm spot
behind my back and next to your belly,
her purring the music that attended our dreams

how happy we were to sleep together,
before insomnia and joints that can’t find comfort,
before snoring and restless legs,

how happy we are now to sleep apart
in peace, in stillness, avoiding the need to stifle
exhausted resentment that spills into the day

in the morning, I wake first,
far too early for your body’s rhythms,
and pause at the top of the stairs to listen

for the sound of you —
your regular breathing and beating heart —
then I tiptoe down, mindful of every creaky step

Daun Daemon’s stories and poems have appeared in Flock, Dead Mule School, Third Wednesday, Typehouse Literary Review, Remington Review, Deep South Magazine, Into the Void, Amsterdam Quarterly and more. Her memoir in poetry, A Prayer for Forgiving My Parents (Kelsay Books), was published in July. Daemon teaches scientific communication at North Carolina State University and lives in Raleigh with her husband and three cats.