Sloth

Beatrice does not know sloth —

jump down, run, climb up

defines her antic path

until she trundles into my lap

or onto my head to groom

a paw, a leg — eyelids droop

& close, open, close, a purr

rumbles — when my grandchild

finally drifts off her snore

gives her away, another wild

day capped by nasal storms —

it’s not yet safe to slide

away, she’ll raise alarms

until her snoring ceases —

silence is her cuneiform

for true sleep, like Beatrice —

once her purring stops

she becomes la señorita

of slumber, her chin drops