Tuesday, April 21, 2009



The sound of the door opening
Turns his head and mine
But we wait -
There's no point in meeting her -
She'll come to us.

She's 7
and sleepy
and a little sweaty,
using her chihuahua to
rake her tousled hair from her eyes.

"You okay?" we ask.
"Yeah," she says, sluggish but clear.
"How 'bout I tuck you back in?"

She heads off the wrong way.

In the morning
She will wake,
Her head on his pillow,
Still sleepy and damp.
And confused.

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