Snore, snore, cough, cough.
The flush of the toilet breaks the sounds of snores
Then the murmur of voices in the hall
A slamming door
I turn over to my other side in hope to find my way back to my dream, but
The whir of the heater brings me back
As I whiff the smell of bleach from the pillows and sheets
Stillness and quiet, but only for a brief moment.
There is breathing – labored. From my grandmother.
Then the stirring of my daughter.
A gentle snore from my mother.
The familiar cough of my father.
I look up at the hotel room ceiling
Surrounded by my loves
and the sounds of their sleep
As I wish for ear plugs and a hotel room to myself.