As is My Custom

AS IS MY CUSTOM Susan Snyder Last night, as I lay in bed, tucked in much too tightly as is my mother’s custom, I heard the trap snap shut, the unoiled hinge of the door, it waits for me. Heating the thermometer on the bulb in my little lamp, and I am allowed to stay in bed. She’s leaving for work. Now I’ll have some time. I listen as the front door snaps shut, the unoiled hinge of the door, and I bounce up. It was waiting for me, wide-eyed,…