Under Taos Mountain
by Penelope Scambly Schott

Magpie at Night

This night has too many pieces.

I lie awake on my white lace pillow
in a black-laced room, wondering,
where in the world does Magpie sleep?

Tía, I sleep in the cup of the dipper;
I dip my beak in the Milky Way.

I watch the sleepers
spinning toward morning.

        Magpie, why can’t I sleep?

You write too much, Auntie.
Let your dreams lie in peace.

        But I need to hold on to something:
        the hem of the sheet or the heat

        of his skin. Or a pen or this pencil
        I trimmed to a point with my knife.

Poor old Auntie. You used to be smarter.
you used to suck your thumb.

        Magpie, I almost remember:
        such a warm, wet dark.

Drop your pencil.

I will rock you back to sleep in a basket
woven from the tails

of shooting stars.