With the Porch Light Still On

From the mud nest hanging at the edge of the eaves, the chicks poke out their heads and open their mouths. Yellow beaks gape wide toward the sky. Standing beneath them, I found myself looking up for a long time. At some point I had stopped waiting for anything, and grown used to simply rising when morning came and lying down when the sun set. But seeing those small lives throw their whole bodies open, calling for something, I wonder if I was once like that too. Closing a mouth that had forgotten what it called for, I went back inside the house. Coming inside, I see the porch light is still on. The light leaking through the gap in the door reached my feet. Did that light stay on even into the morning, I wonder. A porch light left on looks as if it is still waiting for someone to come home, so I stood and watched it a long while. Once the door is closed, the light that touched my feet disappears, and there was another lamp that flickered on at the end of the hall. That one stayed on till morning too. Like a glass of water left sitting on the table in a kitchen where no one is. Looking at that glass, I suddenly remembered the yellow beaks the chicks had opened. Those mouths must be closed by now. Someday I will go quiet like that too, but for now I remain like this, with the light still on.