Limbs

Afraid of the dark, they find their way 
to my bed at night; one hot, one cold
and no rest for any of us.

Sleepless elbows and knees find my hip, 
shin, and the tender bone under my eye, 
my body remembering a knot of child 
kneading my bladder, stealing my breath, 
stamping footprints on my belly.

These growing limbs— 
needing new shoes, longer pants, another haircut; 
these limbs that cling to me like vines to the face of a house—
they are working themselves free.

Against the curtain of their still small breaths, 
truth dawns—these limbs will outlast me. 
Worse, first
they will stop walking themselves 
to my bedside at night.