Nights

The chain drags against the rough wood of the stool on which the dog sleeps It's yawn ends in a whine; forgotten misery Soma didn't untie the dog tonight I think. The thought keeps me awake There's a sound like a shot, that silences the dog and makes me start A mango; the dented corrugated tin roof gleaming dully in the halflight with the huge crater, where the jak fruit fell the other day and nearly killed the dog Two voices, draw closer and pass They laugh. Campus students. Hurt branches through me, a lightning stroke. Once they had insulted me by the stream, where my childhood used to play I turn over, try to sleep on my other cheek From the adjoining bedroom my parents' generation trying to reconcile itself with itself. A mosquito drones maddeningly I ignore it, the net will keep it out. A raised voice, from my sister's room anguished, denying - frightened. Fangs flash in the darkness, the curse of a black bat, hoarse breathing Her voice dies down the stillness in my parents' room I sense the sigh as one of them rises by tacit agreement, to go and comfort her I remember the times I used to torment her I twist and try again to sleep The darkness throbs orange like a signal light taunts my closed lids - fighting to sleep I open them and find the firefly.