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Night Life
Wilda Morris


Here it’s not nursery toys
that come alive in the night
but clothes in the closet.
Your coveralls and my denim jacket
leap through the window
to rock on the porch swing.
They sidle over to the garden,
take nips from a bright red tomato
before joining neighbors
in a square dance.

One of your brown leather boots
gives a playful kick to my sneakers
which string along.
Didn’t you notice those footprints
leading out to the pasture?
All their eyes look skyward,
finding Cassiopeia’s Chair.
If the inside of your shoe is damp
in the morning, it may be milk
spilled from the Little Dipper.

Your Sunday suit slides
off the hanger, offers an arm
to my flowered silk dress
with the white lace collar.
They dine formally on prime rib
and baked potato, using our silver,
then waltz through the house.
Listen! Don’t you hear
the echo of Strauss?

This poem first appeared in Prairie Light Review (Fall 2008).
Used here with the author’s permission.


Wilda Morris is president of Poets & Patrons of Chicago. Author of a nonfiction book about youth violence, her first book of poetry, Szechwan Shrimp and Fortune Cookies: Poems from a Chinese Restaurant, was published in 2008. Wilda's poetry has been published in numerous print and online journals and in the anthology Empty Shoes, and she has won a number of awards for free and formal verse, including a Prairie Poetry Award from College of DuPage and a Pushcart nomination. Learn more about Wilda, and participate in her monthly poetry prompts and contests, at


Post New Comment:
Wilda, I loved the whimsy!
Posted 02/27/2011 11:46 AM
I enjoyed these images so much on a rainy Sunday morning with no hope of stars tonight. Thanks!
Posted 02/27/2011 10:51 AM
Very imaginative!
Posted 02/27/2011 09:29 AM
Love this! What a nice Sunday morning poem. Makes me want to keep my closet door open at night!
Posted 02/27/2011 08:16 AM
Wilda, Enjoyed the playfulness of your poem. Really glad to see you here. A good way to start Sunday morning.
Posted 02/27/2011 07:42 AM

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