Morning in a square window-shaped glow, sun’s anti-shadow thrust against the blue tapestry and half of her sleeping face. She’s worried, even in her sleeping there’s a tightness I can feel about her curled clutching, her thin-lined lips. “Goodbye,” I whisper, shutting the door a little too loudly behind me. It’s winter outside, I know it but I’m always confused to see sunlight and icicles wet in the same day. It’s melting and it sounds like rain. Will she wake to puddles or ice?
“I am doing something I learned early to do, I’m paying attention to small beauties, whatever I have—as if it were our duty to find things to love, to bind ourselves to this world.”
She wakes up blind groping for her glasses, finds chocolate, puts it in her mouth.
She came home crying at four am, I was too asleep to soothe her.
I lost it yesterday, dropped my basket in the snow everyone around me.
She wakes up blind groping for her glasses, finds chocolate, puts it in her mouth.
We fought when we finally started talking to each other.
I lost it yesterday, dropped my basket in the snow everyone around me.
It was a betrayal, deserted again. Abused and undeservedly.
We fought when we finally started talking to each other.
She was easily swayed, too malleable.
It was a betrayal, deserted again. Abused and undeservedly.
Now she’s hurting and I kiss her face at lunch.
She was easily swayed, too malleable.
She came home crying at four am and I was too asleep to sooth her.
Now she’s hurting and I kiss her face at lunch.
“I am doing something I learned early to do. I’m paying attention to small beauties, whatever I have, as if it were our duty to find things to love to bind ourselves to this world.”
