Dakotah: Interlude ~ Bring Me the Sunset in a Cup

Mika’s Note: Yet another inspired by a writing challenge.  This one was based on the first line of an Emily Dickinson poem of the same name.  This particular piece is just a little over two years old. Poor Sierra. LOL

“Bring me the sunset in a cup…” quote the vampire. “Or how about in a bottle, little one?”

The dark-haired infant squirmed in his crib as his papa picked him up. Dakotah situated his small son against his chest and walked out of the nursery, applying the bottle of breast milk and blood to his lips.

Austen grasped at the bottle of pinkish liquid and sucked for all he was worth. Suck. Suck. Sigh. Suck. Suck. Big sigh. The vampire just shook his head and continued out into the living room where the little dhampir’s mama sat waiting.

“What was that you were mumbling back there?” she asked as she took her son.

“Poetry.”

“Poetry?” Sierra cocked an eyebrow. “A vampire who quotes poetry?” She shook her head. “Now, I really think I’ve seen everything.”

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Dakotah grinned, doing his best ‘punk’ impersonation.

“Sheesh. What a dork.”

“I’d be careful if I were you, Sierra. This dork has fangs.” He gave her a mock growl.

“Oh yeah. Riiight. Fangs. I think they’re how I got into this situation in the first place,” she lifted the baby outward just a bit to indicate she meant him. “Like I’m sooo scared.”

“Bring me the sunset in a cup,” he began. “Reckon the morning’s flagons up, And say how many dew:”

Sierra raised both eyebrows and looked at her husband oddly.

“Tell me how far the morning leaps, Tell me what time the weaver sleeps, Who spun the breadths of blue!”

“Wow. I’m impressed.”

“It’s Emily Dickinson, and just the first verse. I became enamored of the poem the moment I first read it all those years ago. Nothing has spoken to me quite like these words. It defines a piece of my life that no one quite understands.” He paused and watched her burp their son. “Well, no one that isn’t like me, that is.”

Dakotah walked over and sat beside Sierra. “Please, let me have him again.” Once Austen was nestled quietly against his chest, he went on. “It’s almost like, ‘tell me a story’ and tell me about the day, all you see, all you experience without me by your side. “

“Interesting. So, what brought all this on?”

“I’m not quite sure,” he confessed. “I think it was something about the color of Austen’s dinner.”

Sierra studied her husband for a moment realizing that even after all this time there was still a world of things she did not know about him, and most of which she may never get the chance to discover. That there was more depth to this supposed creature of the night than there was to most ‘deep thinkers’ of her time. She smiled as she wondered what this meant for their child and what kind of man he’d grow to be.