Up in the Middle of the Night 

Written for Jonathan Ward Meade Fenwick

Summer 1966

My Mother and I have a game we play

Called Up in the Middle of the Night 

It’s a game for two

When all is very quiet

Sometimes I cry, though I don’t want to

And she always says

“No one has to be that unhappy.”

She holds me very close

And says lovely things

Like, “Well, well, my Little Love.”

We walk a lot

Because I like that best

And we see the house in the almost dark

Sometimes we see the other people

And say lovely things about them

Sometimes we sit in a chair that almost rocks

With all the sides high around us

If we’re up in the middle of the night very late

We put pillows on the side

Because sometimes we almost fall asleep

We play forget games

Like standing up and laughing games

Like Mother and Mr. Love a Lot games

Or kissing cheeks games

And sometimes making embraces, our mouths brush

And our hearts fill the rooms

With accordions playing loud silent music

We don’t hurry our game

Because there is so little time we can play it

Even if we’re very tired

We bundle-up and snuggle-up

As long as we can

Singing songs my Mother remembers

Or looking at the moon

Or just being very quiet 

But when we agree

To end our little party

My Mother puts me on my tummy

Warms my blankets around me

And with a warm caress

Whispers, “Goodnight my Little Love.  I love you,”

Now, isn’t that a lovely game to play

Up In the middle of the night

Claire Meade Fenwick  aka Terry Fenwick 

2281 Featherhill Road

Montecito

Santa Barbara, California