I sleep with a whale,

says my mother, referring

to my father,

his body a leviathan hump

in the bed,

heating pad at full torque

beneath his tailbone,

space heater a hum.

My father wears a thermal layer

inside his pajamas,

his skin thinned

to cheesecloth.

My mother runs hot,

sweats in the sheets,

watches him breathe

through heaving lungs,

wondering between dreams

if it might truly be possible to smother

a man with a pillow.

Into his mouth

she falls.