treehouse

when the kid was born we wanted to be good parents so after a week or so of showing him off to our families we moved to the middle of the atlantic ocean. everyone knows there are tall trees there and we built a house in one with wood from shipwrecks. when it dried the wood was sturdy and we even got a TV hooked up and it cost us next to nothing. compared to what we could have gotten in new york it's a palace.

we try to sleep at night, with the long waves rolling against the trees and the rain ganging up from upstairs. when he wakes up you feed and change him and maybe i bat an eye. at first light i try to let you get some sleep, sitting with him out on the balcony.

those mornings he smiles up at me in the new sun, before it gets so bright that the water magnifies it into a million invisible knives and we have to keep him in with the shades drawn. he smiles and maybe coos and my heart goes into defrost mode, it ain't bad. eventually he's hungry again and i bring him back, sheepish to wake you up from first 45 minutes of good unworried sleep you've had in 24 hours.

sometimes the neighbors bring bluefish and once in a while, if the kid's in the mood to sleep, you and i get to talk just the two of us, watching the sun set back to the west. you don't mention it, but i know both of us are wondering how long it would take us to row to queens for that perfect halal cart at the corner of Broadway and 73rd.