There’s a song we sing at the end of the night,

but it isn’t time to crawl into your tiny bed,

like ants in a picnic progression, we first eat

though the skewered moments that reveal

Another, a kabob, at the bottom, an onion, grilled

chicken, peppers red and green, and back again,

layers, patterns, a book of stories read, explained,

questions, always questions, answered

And after smiling teeth have chewed their dinner,

all the spoon scooped ketchup is brushed out.

For now, it’s morning. Sun through the windows,

blinds pushed up to the top of three foot four’s

Tippy toed reach, clothes picked out, shoes on, bag

packed, car seat clicked and snugged to daycare

where time and distance are guessed or snacked on

alongside great thoughts that have been gathered

In direct sun and fluorescence, thoughts carried

off by the ants of our own tasks in a honeyed find,

but it isn’t time to crawl into bed, there are songs

to be sung between everything that’s eaten.

Aaron Wiegert won 2nd place for the Lucille Morgan Wilson Award in the 2025 Lyrical Iowa Poetry Contest.  His poems have appeared in journals and anthologies throughout the U.S., Canada, Scotland, England, Austria, Australia, and Nigeria.