bed time reading

I remember
my mother reading to us
as children,
two
to a bed, her
sitting in the big
blue chair,
in the middle
where we all could hear.
fables,
stories, fantasy.
she was often dramatic.
using different voices
for different characters,
giving a pause
before danger, and a high
pitched voice
for joy.
we would plead for one more
page,
one more tale.
and she would give in
and say, okay. just one
more than it's
time for bed, time
to turn in.
it's what love
does. it listens. it gives.
it's a well
without an end.