'Breath-song for an Imagined Future' by Brid McGinley

She feigns sleep as he slinks into the darkened bedroom. Shower-fresh, lemon-scented, he fumbles under the pillow for his pyjamas. He finds them on the floor, where he left them. Hissed frustration, muttered swearing, before he abandons the tussle of tangled cotton. The clock’s green glimmer lights his glistening limbs; he glides into bed without rustling covers or touching her, and as he drifts towards sleep, she wonders if his tranquil breathing still hums the melody of her imagined future.

In the cot, the baby whimpers and stirs, and she lies stiff and tense, shallow-breathed, until child and husband sleep.