Head pressed hard against the pillow.
My heart in my ears;
I wish the steady drumming,
were coming,
from the pads of your feet
against the hallway carpet,
instead--
Your smell on my sheet
gathers upin my throat
and a few captive tears,
In the dark,
escape onto the cotton.
So this is what foolish feels like.
I am seven years old again,
Waiting for the tooth fairy
To seize the teeth beneath my pillow.
No comments:
Post a Comment